A^ishedAhizona 

RECOLLECTIONS OF 
MYARMYLIFE 

MARTHA. SUMMERHAYES 




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Vanished Arizona 




cJXfiAMiA. 



Vanished Arizona 

Recollections of the Army Life 
of a New England Woman 



BY 

Martha Summerhayes 



With Twenty-eight Illustrations 



^ Second ^ 
M Edition K 



Published by 

The SaIvEm Press Co. 

Salem. Mass. 



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Preface 

I HAVE written this story of my army life at the 
urgent and ceaseless request of my children. 

For whenever I allude to those early days, and 
tell to them the tales they have so often heard, they 
always say: " Now, mother, will you write these 
stories for us? Please, mother, do] we must never 
forget them." 

Then, after an interval, "Mother, have you written 
those stories of Arizona yet?" until finally, with the 
aid of some old letters written from those very places 
(the letters having been preserved, with other papers 
of mine, by an uncle in New England long since dead), 
I have been able to give a fairly connected story. 

I have not attempted to commemorate my husband's 
brave career in the Civil War, as I was not married 
until some years after the close of that war, nor to 
describe the many Indian campaigns in which he took 
part, nor to write about the achievements of the old 
Eighth Infantry. I leave all that to the historian. 
I have given simply the impressions made upon the 
mind of a young New England woman who left her 



PREFACE 

comfortable home in the early seventies, to follow a 
second lieutenant into the wildest encampments of 
the American army. 

Hoping the story may possess some interest for the 
younger women of the army, and possibly for some 
of our old friends, both in the army and in civil life, 
I venture to send it forth. 



PosTCRiPT (second edition) . 

The appendix to this, the second edition of my 
book, will tell something of the kind manner in 
which the first edition was received by my friends 
and the public at large. 

But as several people had expressed a wish that I 
should tell more of my army experiences I have gone 
carefully over the entire book, adding some detail 
and a few incidents which had come to my mind 
later. 

I have also been able, with some difficulty and 
much patient effort, to secure several photographs of 
exceptional interest, which have been added to the 
illustrations. 
January, 1911. 



Contents 



chapter page 

Preface 7 

I. Germany and the Army 13 

II. I Joined The Army 20 

III. Army House-keeping 23 

IV. Down the Pacific Coast 34 

V. The SIvUE 41 

VI. Up the Rio Colorado 48 

VII. The Mojave Desert 58 

VIII. Learning How to Soi^dier 70 

IX. Across the Mogotxons 78 

X. A PERiiyOus Adventure 86 

XI. Camp Apache 88 

XII. Life Amongst the Apaches 97 

XIII. A New Recruit 109 

XIV. A Memorabi^e Journey 117 

XV. Fording the Litti^e Coi^orado .... 125 

XVI. Stoneman's Lake 131 

XVII. The Coi^orado Desert 143 

XVIII. Bhrenberg on the CoIvOrado .... 147 

XIX. Summer at Ehrenberg ...... 154 

XX. My Deliverer 172 

XXI. Winter in Ehrenberg 178 

XXII. Return to the States 187 

XXIII. Back to Arizona 194 

XXIV. Up the Valley of the Gila 203 

XXV. Old Camp MacDowell 209 

XXVI. A Sudden Order 223 

XXVII. The Eighth Foot Leaves Arizona . . 231 

XXVIII. California and Nevada 234 

XXIX. Changing Station 249 

XXX. Fort Niobrara 257 

XXXI. Santa F6 271 

XXXII. Texas 281 

XXXIII. David's Island 296 

Appendix 304 

9 



List of Illustrations 

PACK 

Portrait of Martha Suminerhayes Frontispiece 

"Jack" Mellon, the Famous Pilot of the Colorado River, 

1875. - -— - 59 

White Mountain Apache Indian Scouts, 1875 106 

Captain William T. Worth, Brevet-Major, U. S. A. 

Afterwards Brigadier-General 107 

Barney's Store at Ehrenberg, 1875 - - ^5° 

Our Quarters at Ehrenberg, 1875 ._ -— 156 

Yuma Indians in 1875 1 70 

Native dress of the Cocopah and Yuma Indian Woman 

in '75 176 

Suwarro, Giant Cactus, Near Camp MacDowell, Arizona, 

1877 - 206 

Our Quarters at Old Camp MacDowell, Arizona, 1877 210 

Bowen, Our Faithful Soldier-cook - 215 

Fort Yuma, Arizona, and Railroad Bridge on the Great 

Colorado, 1877 232 

Group: Lt. C. P. Terrett, Lt. Bingham, Major Wilhelm, 

Ivt. Phil. Reade, Lt. Charley Bailey 244" 

The Old "General McPherson" Plying From Angel 

Island to Alcatraz and San Francisco, 1880 246 

Mission Church of San Xavier del Bac. Showing the 

Ruins - 254 

Mission Church of San Xavier del Bac. Front View 254 

Altar, Mission of San Xavier del Bac 255 

Officers' Quarters, Fort Niobrara, Nebraska, 1887 258 

General August V. Kautz 261 

A Sioux Indian Family; Buck, Squaw and Child 262 

John W. Summerhayes, Major and Quartermaster, U.S.A. 268 
Ox-team Fording the Niobrara River. Hauling Wood 

to the Fort 269 

Ox-teams Hauling Wood to Fort Niobrara, Nebraska, 

1888 270 

Old Palace of the Spanish Viceroys, Santa Fe 276 

Our Morning Rides at Santa F6, New Mexico, 1889 278 

Frederic Remington and Jack Summerhayes 288 

11 



Vanished Arizona 

CHAPTER I 

ge:rmany and the army 

The staewart men of the Prussian army, the Lan- 
cers, the Dragoons, the Hussars, the clank of their 
sabres on the pavements, their brilHant uniforms, all 
made an impression upon my romantic mind, and I 
listened eagerly, in the quiet evenings, to tales of 
Hanover under King George, to stories of battles lost, 
and the entry of the Prussians into the old Residens- 
stadt; the flight of the King, and the sorrow and 
chagrin which prevailed. 

For I was living in the family of General Weste, 
the former stadt-commandant of Hanover, who had 
served fifty years in the army and had accom- 
panied King George on his exit from the city. 
He was a gallant veteran, with the rank of General- 
Lieutenant, atisser Dienst. A charming and dignified 
man, accepting philosophically the fact that Hanover 
had become Prussian, but loyal in his heart to his 
King and to old Hanover; pretending great wrath 
when, on the King's birthday, he found yellow and 
white sand strewn before his door, but unable to 
conceal the joyful gleam in his eye when he spoke 
of it. 

13 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

The General's wife was the daughter of a burgo- 
master and had been brought up in a neighboring 
town. She was a dear, kind soul. 

The house-keeping was simple, but stately and pre- 
cise, as befitted the rank of this officer. The General 
was addressed by the servants as Bxcellenz and his 
wife as Fraii Bxcellens. A charming unmarried 
daughter lived at home, making, with myself, a 
family of four. 

Life was spent quietly, and every evening, after 
our cofifee (served in the living-room in winter, and 
in the garden in summer), Fran Generalin would 
amuse me with descriptions of life in her old home, 
and of how girls were brought up in her day; how 
industry was esteemed by her mother the greatest 
virtue, and idleness was punished as the most be- 
guiling sin. She was never allowed, she said, to read, 
even on Sunday, without her knitting-work in her 
hands; and she would often sigh, and say to me, in 
German (for dear Praii Generalin spoke no other 
tongue), "Ach, Martha, you American girls are so 
differently brought up" ; and I would say, "But, 
Frau Generalin, which way do you think is the 
better?" She would then look puzzled, shrug her 
shoulders, and often say, "Ach ! times are different I 
suppose, but my ideas can never change." 

Now the dear Prau Generalin did not speak a word 
of English, and as I had had only a few lessons in 
German before I left America, I had the utmost diffi- 

14 



GERMANY AND THE ARMY 

culty at first in comprehending what she said. She 
spoke rapidly and I would listen with the closest 
attention, only to give up in despair, and to say, 
*'Gute Nacht," evening after evening, with my head 
buzzing and my mind a blank. 

After a few weeks, however, I began to understand 
everything she said, altho' I could not yet write or 
rc:id the language, and I listened with the greatest 
interest to the story of her marriage with young 
Lieutenant Weste, of the bringing up of her four 
children, and of the old days in Hanover, before the 
Prussians took possession. 

She described to me the brilliant Hanoverian Court, 
the endless festivities and balls, the stately elegance 
of the old city, and the cruel misfortunes of the King. 
And how, a few days after the King's flight, the 
end of all things came to her; for she was politely 
informed one evening, by a big Prussian major, that 
she must seek other lodgings — he needed her quarters. 
At this point she always wept, and I sympathized. 

Thus I came to know military life in Germany, and 
I fell in love with the army, with its brilliancy and 
its glitter, with its struggles and its romance, with 
its sharp contrasts, its deprivations, and its chivalry. 

I came to know, as their guest, the best of old 
military society. They were very old-fashioned and 
precise, and Frau Generalin often told me that Amer- 
ican girls were too ausgelassen in their manners. She 
often reproved me for seating myself upon the sofa 

15 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

(which was only for old people) and also for looking 
about too much when walking on the streets. Young 
girls must keep their eyes more cast down, looking up 
only occasionally. (I thought this dreadfully prim, 
as I was eager to see everything). I was expected to 
stop and drop a little courtesy on meeting an older 
woman, and then to inquire after the health of each 
member of the family. It seemed to take a lot of time, 
but all the other girls did it, and there seemed to 
be no hurry about anything, ever, in that elegant old 
Residenz-stadt. Surely a contrast to our bustling 
American towns. 

A sentiment seemed to underlie everything they 
did. The Emperor meant so much to them, and they 
adored the Empress. A personal feeling, an affec- 
tion, such as I had never heard of in a republic, caused 
me to stop and wonder if an empire were not the best, 
after all. And one day, when the Emperor, passing 
through Hanover en route, drove down the Georgen- 
strasse in an open barouche and raised his hat as he 
glanced at the sidewalk where I happened to be stand- 
ing, my heart seemed to stop beating, and I was over- 
come by a most wonderful feeling — a feeling that in 
a man would have meant chivalry and loyalty unto 
death. 

In this beautiful old city, life could not be taken 
any other than leisurely. Theatres with early hours, 
the maid coming for me with a lantern at nine o'clock, 
the frequent Kaffee-klatsch, the delightful afternoon 

i6 



GERMANY AND THE ARMY 

coffee at the Georgen-garten, the visits to the Zoo- 
logical gardens, where we always took our fresh rolls 
along with our knitting-work in a basket, and then sat 
at a little table in the open, and were served with 
coffee, sweet cream, and butter, by a strapping Hes- 
sian peasant woman — all so simple, yet so elegant, so 
peaceful. 

We heard the best music at the theatre, which was 
managed with the same precision, and maintained by 
the Government with the same generosity, as in the 
days of King George. No one was allowed to enter 
after the overture had begun, and an absolute hush 
prevailed. 

The orchestra consisted of sixty or more pieces, and 
the audience was critical. The parquet was filled 
with officers in the gayest uniforms; there were few 
ladies amongst them ; the latter sat mostly in the 
boxes, of which there were several tiers, and as 
soon as the curtain fell, between the acts, the officers 
would rise, turn around, and level their glasses at the 
boxes. Sometimes they came and visited in the boxes. 

As I had been brought up in a town half Quaker, 
half Puritan, the custom of going to the theatre 
Sunday evenings was rather a questionable one in my 
mind. But I soon fell in with their ways, and found 
that on Sunday evenings there was always the most 
brilliant audience and the best plays were selected. 
With this break-down of the wall of narrow preju- 
dice, I gave up others equally as narrow, and adopted 

17 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

the German customs with my whole heart. 

I studied the language with unflinching persever- 
ance, for this was the opportunity I had dreamed 
about and longed for in the barren winter evenings at 
Nantucket when I sat poring over Coleridge's trans- 
lations of Schiller's plays and Bayard Taylor's version 
of Goethe's Faust. 

Should I ever read these intelligently in the 
original ? 

And when my father consented for me to go over 
and spend a year and live in General Weste's family, 
there never was a happier or more grateful young 
woman. Appreciative and eager, I did not waste a 
moment, and my keen enjoyment of the German 
classics repaid me a hundred fold for all my in- 
dustry. 

Neither time nor misfortune, nor illness can take 
from me the memory of that year of privileges such 
as is given few American girls to enjoy, when they 
are at an age to fully appreciate them. 

And so completely separated was I from the Ameri- 
can and English colony that I rarely heard my own 
language spoken, and thus I lived, ate, listened, talked, 
and even dreamed in German. 

There seemed to be time enough to do everything 
we wished ; and, as the Franco-Prussian war was just 
over (it was the year of 1871), and many troops were 
in garrison at Hanover, the officers could always join 
us at the various gardens for after-dinner coffee, 

18 



GERMANY AND THE ARMY 

which, by the way, was not taken in the demi-tasse, 
but in good generous coffee-cups, with plenty of rich 
cream. Every one drank at least two cups, the 
officers smoked, the women knitted or embroidered, 
and those were among the pleasantest hours I spent in 
Germany. 

The intrusion of unwelcome visitors was never to 
be feared, as, by common consent, the various classes 
in Hanover kept by themselves, thus enjoying life 
much better than in a country where everybody is 
striving after the pleasures and luxuries enjoyed by 
those whom circumstances have placed above them. 

The gay uniforms lent a brilliancy to every afifair, 
however simple. Officers were not allowed to appear 
en civile, unless on leave of absence. 

I used to say, "Oh, Frau General, how fascinating 
it all is!" "Hush, Martha," she would say; "life 
in the army is not always so brilliant as it looks; 
in fact, we often call it, over here, 'glaensendes 
Blend.' " 

These bitter words made a great impression upon 
my mind, and in after years, on the American 
frontier, I seemed to hear them over and over again. 

When I bade good-bye to the General and his 
family, I felt a tightening about my throat and my 
heart, and I could not speak. Life in Germany had 
become dear to me, and I had not known how dear 
until I was leaving it forever. 

(19) 



CHAPTER II 

I JOINED the: army 

I was put in charge of the captain of the North 
German Lloyd S. S. "Donau," and after a most ter- 
rific cyclone in mid-ocean, in which we nearly found- 
ered, I landed in Hoboken, sixteen days from 
Bremen. 

My brother, Harry Dunham, met me on the pier, 
saying, as he took me in his arms, ''You do not 
need to tell me what sort of a trip you have had; 
it is enough to look at the ship — that tells the story." 

As the vessel had been about given up for lost, 
her arrival was somewhat of an agreeable surprise 
to all our friends, and to none more so than my old 
friend Jack, a second lieutenant of the United States 
army, who seemed so glad to have me back in America, 
that I concluded the only thing to do was to join the 
army myself. 

A quiet wedding in the country soon followed my 
decision, and we set out early in April of the year 
1874 to join his regiment, which was stationed at 
Fort Russell, Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory. 

I had never been west of New York, and Cheyenne 
seemed to me, in contrast with the finished civiliza- 
tion of Europe, which I had so recently left, the 
wildest sort of a place. 

20 



I JOINED THE ARMY 

Arriving in the morning, and alighting from the 
train, two gallant officers, in the uniform of the 
United States infantry, approached and gave us wel- 
come; and to me, the bride, a special "welcome to 
the regiment" was given by each of them with out- 
stretched hands. 

Major Wilhelm said, " The ambulance is right here; 
you must come to our house and stay until you get 
your quarters." 

Such was my introduction to the army — and to the 
army ambulance, in which I was destined to travel 
so many miles. 

Four lively mules and a soldier driver brought us 
soon to the post, and Mrs. Wilhelm welcomed us to 
her pleasant and comfortable-looking quarters. 

I had never seen an army post in America. I had 
always lived in places which needed no garrison, and 
the army, except in Germany, was an unknown quan- 
tity to me. 

Fort Russell was a large post, and the garrison 
consisted of many companies of cavalry and infantry. 
It was all new and strange to me. 

Soon after luncheon. Jack said to Major Wilhelm, 
"Well, now, I must go and look for quarters: what's 
the prospect?" 

"You will have to turn some one out," said the 
Major, as they left the house together. 

About an hour afterwards they returned, and Jack 
said, "Well, I have turned out Lynch; but," he 

21 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

added, ''as his wife ai.d child are away, I do not 
beheve he'll care very much." 

*'Oh," said I, 'Tm so sorry to have to turn any- 
body out !" 

The Major and his wife smiled, and the former 
remarked, "You must not have too much sympathy: 
it's the custom of the service — it's always done — by 
virtue of rank. They'll hate you for doing it, but 
if you don't do it they'll not respect you. After 
you've been turned out once yourself, you will not 
mind turning others out." 

The following morning I drove over to Cheyenne 
with Mrs. Wilhelm, and as I passed Lieutenant 
Lynch's quarters and saw soldiers removing Mrs. 
Lynch's lares and penates, in the shape of a sewing 
machine, lamp-shades, and other home-like things, I 
turned away in pity that such customs could exist in 
our service. 

To me, who had lived my life in the house in 
which I was born, moving was a thing to be dreaded. 

But Mrs. Wilhelm comforted me, and assured me 
it was not such a serious matter after all. Army 
women were accustomed to it, she said. 

(22) 



CHAPTER III 

ARMY H0US£:-KKE:PING 

Not knowing before I left home just what was 
needed for house-keeping in the army, and being able 
to gather only vague ideas on the subject from Jack, 
who declared that his quarters were furnished ad- 
mirably, I had taken out with me but few articles 
in addition to the silver and linen-chests. 

I began to have serious doubts on the subject of 
my menage, after inspecting the bachelor furnishings 
which had seemed so ample to my husband. But 
there was so much to be seen in the way of guard 
mount, cavalry drill, and various military functions, 
besides the drives to town and the concerts of the 
string orchestra, that I had little time to think of the 
practical side of life. 

Added to this, we were enjoying the delightful 
hospitality of the Wilhelms, and the Major insisted 
upon making me acquainted with the ''real old- 
fashioned army toddy" several times a day, — a new 
beverage to me, brought up in a blue-ribbon com- 
munity, where wine-bibbing and whiskey drinking 
were rated as belonging to only the lowest classes. 
To be sure, my father always drank two fingers of 
fine cognac before dinner, but I had always con- 
sidered that a sort of medicine for a man advanced 
in years. 

23 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Taken all in all, it is not to be wondered at if I saw 
not much in those few days besides bright buttons, 
blue uniforms, and shining swords. 

Everything was military and gay and brilliant, and 
I forgot the very existence of practical things, in 
listening to the dreamy strains of Italian and German 
music, rendered by our excellent and painstaking 
orchestra. For the Eighth Infantry loved good music, 
and had imported its musicans direct from Italy. 

This came to an end, however, after a few days, and 
I was obliged to descend from those heights to the dead 
level of domestic economy. 

My husband informed me that the quarters were 
ready for our occupancy and that we could begin 
house-keeping at once. He had engaged a soldier 
named Adams for a striker ; he did not know whether 
Adams was much of a cook, he said, but he was the 
only available man just then, as the companies were 
up north at the Agency. 

Our quarters consisted of three rooms and a kitchen, 
which formed one-half of a double house. 

I asked Jack why we could not have a whole house. 
I did not think I could possibly live in three rooms 
and a kitchen. 

*'Why, Martha," said he, "did you not know that 
women are not reckoned in at all at the War Depart- 
ment? A lieutenant's allowance of quarters, accord- 
ing to the Army Regulations, is one room and a 
kitchen, a captain's allowance is two rooms and a 

24 



ARMY HOUSE-KEEPING 

kitchen, and so on up, until a colonel has a fairly 
good house." I told him I thought it an outrage; 
that lieutenants' wives needed quite as much as 
colonels' wives. 

He laughed and said, "You see we have already 
two rooms over our proper allowance; there are so 
many married officers, that the Government has had 
to stretch a point." 

After indulging in some rather harsh comments 
upon a government which could treat lieutenants' 
wives so shabbily, I began to investigate my sur- 
roundings. 

Jack had placed his furnishings (some lace cur- 
tains, camp chairs, and a carpet) in the living-room, 
and there was a forlorn-looking bedstead in the bed- 
room. A pine table in the dining-room and a range in 
the kitchen completed the outfit. A soldier had 
scrubbed the rough floors with a straw broom : it was 
absolutely forlorn, and my heart sank within me. 

But then I thought of Mrs. Wilhelm's quarters, and 
resolved to try my best to make ours look as cheerful 
and pretty as hers. A chaplain was about leaving 
the post and wished to dispose of his things, so we 
bought a carpet of him, a few more camp chairs of 
various designs, and a cheerful-looking table-cover. 
We were obliged to be very economical, as Jack was a 
second lieutenant, the pay was small and a little in 
arrears, after the wedding trip and long journey out. 
We bought white Holland shades for the windows, and 

25 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

made the three rooms fairly comfortable and then I 
turned my attention to the kitchen. 

Jack said I should not have to buy anything at all; 
the Quartermaster Department furnished everything 
in the line of kitchen utensils ; and, as his word was 
law, I went over to the quartermaster store-house to 
select the needed articles. 

After what I had been told, I was surprised to 
find nothing smaller than two-gallon tea-kettles, meat- 
forks a yard long, and mess-kettles deep enough to 
cook rations for fifty men ! I rebelled, and said I 
would not use such gigantic things. 

My husband said : "Now, Mattie, be reasonable ; all 
the army women keep house with these utensils ; the 
regiment will move soon, and then what should we 
do with a lot of tin pans and such stuff? You know a 
second lieutenant is allowed only a thousand pounds 
of baggage when he changes station." This was a 
hard lesson, which I learned later. 

Having been brought up in an old-time community, 
where women deferred to their husbands in every- 
thing, I yielded, and the huge things were sent over. 
I had told Mrs. Wilhelm that we were to have 
luncheon in our own quarters. 

So Adams made a fire large enough to roast beef 
for a company of soldiers, and he and I attempted to 
boil a few eggs in the deep mess-kettle and to make 
the water boil in the huge tea-kettle. 

But Adams, as it turned out, was not a cook, and I 
26 



ARMY HOUSEKEEPING 

must confess that my own attention had been more 
engrossed by the study of German auxiHary verbs, 
during the few previous years, than with the art of 
cooking. 

Of course, Hke all New England girls of that period, 
I knew how to make quince jelly and floating islands, 
but of the actual, practical side of cooking, and the 
management of a range, I knew nothing. 

Here was a dilemma, indeed ! 

The eggs appeared to boil, but they did not seem 
to be done when we took them off, by the minute-hand 
of the clock. 

I declared the kettle was too large; Adams said he 
did not understand it at all. 

I could have wept with chagrin ! Our first meal 
a deux! 

I appealed to Jack. He said, ''Why, of course, 
Martha, you ought to know that things do not cook 
as quickly at this altitude as they do down at the 
sea level. We are thousands of feet above the sea here 
in Wyoming." (I am not sure it vv^as thousands, but 
it was hundreds at least.) 

So that was the trouble, and I had not thought of it ! 

My head was giddy with the glamour, the uniform, 
the guard-mount, the military music, the rarefied air, 
the new conditions, the new interests of my life. 
Heine's songs, Goethe's plays, history and romance 
were floating through my mind. Is it to be wondered 
at that I and Adams together prepared the most 

27 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

atrocious meals that ever a new husband had to eat? 

I related my difficulties to Jack, and told him I 
thought we should never be able to manage with such 
kitchen utensils as were furnished by the Q. M. D. 

"Oh, pshaw ! You are pampered and spoiled with 
your New England kitchens," said he; "you will 
have to learn to do as other army women do — cook 
in cans and such things, be inventive, and learn to 
do with nothing." This was my first lesson in army 
house-keeping. 

After my unpractical teacher had gone out on some 
official business, I ran over to Mrs. Wilhelm's quar- 
ters and said, "Will you let me see your kitchen 
closet?" 

She assented, and I saw the most beautiful array 
of tin-ware, shining and neat, placed in rows upon 
the shelves and hanging from hooks on the wall. 
, ''So!" I said; "my military husband does not know 
anything about these things ;" and I availed myself of 
the first trip of the ambulance over to Cheyenne, 
bought a stock of tin-ware and had it charged, and 
made no mention of it — because I feared that tin- 
ware was to be our bone of contention, and I put 
off the evil day. 

The cooking went on better after that, but I did not 
have much assistance from Adams. 

I had great trouble at first with the titles and the 
rank: but I soon learned that many of the officers 
were addressed by the brevet title bestowed upon them 

28 



ARMY HOUSE-KEEPING. 

for gallant service in the Civil War, and I began to 
understand about the ways and customs of the army 
of Uncle Sam. In contrast to the Germans, the 
American lieutenants were not addressed by their 
title (except officially) ; I learned to "Mr." all the 
lieutenants who had no brevet. 

One morning I suggested to Adams that he should 
wash the front windows; after being gone a half 
hour, to borrow a step-ladder, he entered the room, 
mounted the ladder and began. I sat writing. Sud- 
denly, he faced around, and addressing me, said, 
"Madam, do you believe in spiritualism?" 

"Good gracious ! Adams, no ; why do you ask me 
such a question ?" 

This was enough ; he proceeded to give a lecture on 
the subject worthy of a man higher up on the ladder 
of this life. I bade him come to an end as soon as I 
dared (for I was not accustomed to soldiers), and 
suggested that he was forgetting his work. 

It was early in April, and the snow drifted through 
the crevices of the old dried-out house, in banks upon 
our bed ; but that was soon mended, and things began 
to go smoothly enough, when Jack was ordered to 
join his company, which was up at the Spotted Tail 
Agency. It was expected that the Sioux under this 
chief would break out at any minute. They had 
become disaffected about some treaty. I did not like 
to be left alone with the Spiritualist, so Jack asked 
one of the laundresses, whose husband was out with 

29 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

the company, to come and stay and take care of me. 

Mrs. Patten was an old campaigner; she under- 
stood everything about officers and their ways, and 
she made me absokitely comfortable for those two 
lonely months. I always felt grateful to her; she 
was a dear old Irish woman. 

All the families and a few officers were left at the 
post, and, with the daily drive to Cheyenne, some 
small dances and theatricals, my time was pleasantly 
occupied. 

Cheyenne in those early days was an amusing but 
unattractive frontier town ; it presented a great con- 
trast to the old civilization I had so recently left. We 
often saw women in cotton wrappers, high-heeled 
slippers, and sun-bonnets, walking in the main streets. 
Cows, pigs, and saloons seemed to be a feature of the 
place. 

In about six weeks, the affairs of the Sioux were 
settled, and the troops returned to the post. The 
weather began to be uncomfortably hot in those 
lovv^ wooden houses. I missed the comforts of home 
and the fresh sea air of the coast, but I tried to make 
the best of it. 

Our sleeping-room was very small, and its one 
window looked out over the boundless prairie at the 
back of the post. On account of the great heat, we 
were obliged to have this window wide open at night. 
I heard the cries and wails of various animals, but 
Jack said that was nothing — they always heard them. 

30 



ARMY HOUSE-KEEPING 

Once, at midnight, the wails seemed to be nearer, 
and I was terrified ; but he told me 'twas only the half- 
wild cats and coyotes which prowled around the post. 
I asked him if they ever came in. "Gracious, no !" 
he said; ''they are too wild." 

I calmed myself for sleep — when like lightning, one 
of the huge creatures gave a flying leap in at our 
window, across the bed, and through into the living- 
room. 

''Jerusalem!" cried the lieutenant, and flew after 
her, snatching his sword, which stood in the corner, 
and poking vigorously under the divan. 

I rolled myself under the bed-covers, in the most 
abject terror lest she might come back the same way ; 
and, true enough, she did, with a most piercing cry. 
I never had much rest after that occurrence, as v/e 
had no protection against these wild-cats. 

The regiment, however, in June was ordered to 
Arizona, that dreaded and then unknown land, and 
the uncertain future was before me. I saw the other 
women packing china and their various belongings. 
I seemed to be helpless. Jack was busy with things 
outside. He had three large army chests, which were 
brought in and placed before me. ''Now," he said, 
"all our things must go into those chests" — and I sup- 
posed they must. 

I was pitifully ignorant of the details of moving, 
and I stood despairingly gazing into the depths of 
those boxes, when the jolly and stout wife of Major 

31 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

von Hermann passed my window. She glanced in, 
comprehended the situation, and entered, saying, 
"You do not understand how to pack? Let me help 
you : give me a cushion to kneel upon — now bring 
everything that is to be packed, and I can soon show 
3^ou how to do it." With her kind assistance the 
chests were packed, and I found that we had a great 
deal of surplus stuff which had to be put into rough 
cases, or rolled into packages and covered with burlap. 
Jack fumed when he saw it, and declared we could 
not take it all, as it exceeded our allowance of weight. 
I declared we must take it, or we could not exist. 

With some concessions on both sides we were finally 
packed up, and left Fort Russell about the middle of 
June, with the first detachment, consisting of head- 
quarters and band, for San Francisco, over the Union 
Pacific Railroad. 

For it must be remembered, that in 1874 there were 
no railroads in Arizona, and all troops which were 
sent to that distant territory either marched over- 
land through New Mexico, or were transported by 
steamer from San Francisco down the coast, and up 
the Oulf of California to Fort Yuma, from which 
point they marched up the valley of the Gila to the 
southern posts, or continued up the Colorado River by 
steamer, to other points of disembarkation, whence 
they marched to the posts in the interior, or the 
northern part of the territory. 

Much to my delight, we were allowed to remain 

32 



ARMY HOUSE-KEEPING 

over in San Francisco, and go down with the second 
detachment. We made the most of the time, which 
was about a fortnight, and on the sixth of August we 
embarked with six companies of soldiers. Lieutenant 
Colonel Wilkins in command, on the old steamship 
"Newbern," Captain Metzger, for Arizona. 

(33) 



CHAPTER IV 

DOWN THE PACIFIC COAST 

Now THE "Newbern" was famous for being a good 
roller, and she lived up to her reputation. For 
seven days I saw only the inside of our stateroom. 
At the end of that time we arrived off Cape St. Lucas 
(the extreme southern point of Lower California), 
and I went on deck. 

We anchored and took cattle aboard. I watched the 
natives tow them off, the cattle swimming behind their 
small boats, and then saw the poor beasts hoisted up 
hy their horns to the deck of our ship. 

I thought it most dreadfully cruel, but was in- 
formed that it had been done from time immemorial, 
so I ceased to talk about it, knowing that I could not 
reform those aged countries, and reahzing, faintly 
perhaps (for I had never seen much of the rough 
side of life), that just as cruel things were done to 
the cattle we consume in the North. 

Now that Mr. Sinclair, in his great book "The 
Jungle," has brought the multiplied horrors of the 
great packing-houses before our very eyes, we might 
witness the hoisting of the cattle over the ship's side 
without feeling such intense pity, admitting that 
everything is relative, even cruelty. 

It was now the middle of August, and the weather 
34 



DOWN THE PACIFIC COAST 

had become insufferably hot, but we were out of the 
long swell of the Pacific Ocean ; we had rounded Cape 
St. Lucas, and were steaming up the Gulf of Cali- 
fornia, towards the mouth of the Great Colorado, 
whose red and turbulent waters empty themselves into 
this gulf, at its head. 

I now had time to become acquainted with the 
officers of the regiment, whom I had not before met; 
they had come in from other posts and joined the 
command at San Francisco. 

The daughter of the lieutenant-colonel was on board, 
the beautiful and graceful Caroline Wilkins, the belle 
of the regiment ; and Major Worth, to whose company 
my husband belonged. I took a special interest in 
the latter, as I knew we must face life together in the 
wilds of Arizona. I had time to learn something 
about the regiment and its history; and that Major 
Worth's father, whose monument I had so often seen 
in New York, was the first colonel of the Eighth 
Infantry, when it was organized in the State of New 
York in 1838. 

The party on board was merry enough, and even 
gay. There was Captain Ogilby, a great, genial 
Scotchman, and Captain Porter, a graduate of Dublin, 
and so charmingly witty. He seemed very devoted to 
Miss Wilkins, but Miss Wilkins was accustomed to 
the devotion of all the officers of the Eighth Infantry. 
In fact, it was said that every young lieutenant who 
joined the regiment had proposed to her. She was 

35 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

most attractive, and as she had too kind a heart to 
be a coquette, she was a universal favorite with the 
women as weh as with the men. 

There was Ella Bailey, too. Miss Wilkins' sister, 
with her young and handsome husband and their 
young baby. 

Then, dear Mrs. Wilkins, who had been so many 
years in the army that she remembered crossing the 
plains in a real ox-team. She represented the best 
type of the older army woman — and it was so lovely 
to see her with her two daughters, all in the same 
regiment. A mother of grown-up daughters was not 
often met with in the army. 

And Lieutenant-Colonel Wilkins, a gentleman in 
the truest sense of the word — a man of rather quiet 
tas'tes, never happier than when he had leisure for 
indulging his musical taste in strumming all sorts of 
Spanish fandangos on the guitar, or his somewhat 
marked talent with the pencil and brush. 

The heat of the staterooms compelled us all to sleep 
on deck, so our mattresses were brought up by the 
soldiers at night, and spread about. The situation, 
however, was so novel and altogether ludicrous, and 
our fear of rats which ran about on deck so great, 
that sleep was well-nigh out of the question. 

Before dawn, we fled to our staterooms, but by sun- 
rise we were glad to dress and escape from their 
suffocating heat and go on deck again. Black coffee 
and hard-tack were sent up, and this sustained us 

36 



DOWN THE PACIFIC COAST 

until the nine-o'clock breakfast, which was elaborate, 
but not good. There was no milk, of course, except 
the heavily sweetened sort, which I could not use : it 
was the old-time condensed and canned milk; the 
meats were beyond everything, except the poor, tough, 
fresh beef we had seen hoisted over the side, at Cape 
St. Lucas. The butter, poor at the best, began to 
pour like oil. Black coffee and bread, and a baked 
sweet potato, seemed the only things that I could 
swallow. 

The heat in the Gulf of California was intense. 
Our trunks wxre brought up from the vessel's hold, 
and we took out summer clothing. But how inade- 
quate and inappropriate it was for that climate ! Our 
faces burned and blistered; even the parting on the 
head burned, under the awnings which were kept 
spread. The ice-supply decreased alarmingly, the 
meats turned green, and when the steward went down 
into the refrigerator, which was somewhere below the 
quarter-deck, to get provisions for the day, every 
woman held a bottle of salts to her nose, and the 
officers fled to the forward part of the ship. The 
odor which ascended from that refrigerator was inde- 
scribable : it lingered and would not go. It followed 
us to the table, and when we tasted the food we tasted 
the odor. We bribed the steward for ice. Finally, 
I could not go below at all, but had a baked sweet 
potato brought on deck, and lived several days upon 
that diet. 

37 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

On the 14th of August we anchored off Mazatlan, a 
picturesque and ancient adobe town in old Mexico. 
The approach to this port was strikingly beautiful. 
Great rocks, cut by the surf into arches and caverns, 
guarded the entrance to the harbor. We anchored 
two miles out. A customs and a Wells-Fargo boat 
boarded us, and many natives came along side, bring- 
ing fresh cocoanuts, bananas, and limes. Some Mexi- 
cans bound for Guaymas came on board, and a troupe 
of Japanese jugglers. 

While we were unloading cargo, some officers and 
their wives went on shore in one of the ship's boats, 
and found it a most interesting place. It was gar- 
risoned by Mexican troops, uniformed in white cotton 
shirts and trousers. They visited the old hotel, the 
amphitheatre where the bull-fights were held, and the 
old fort. They told also about the cock-pits — and 
about the refreshing drinks they had. 

My thirst began to be abnormal. We bought a 
dozen cocoanuts, and I drank the milk from them, and 
made up my mind to go ashore at the next port; for 
after nine days with only thick black coffee and bad 
warm water to drink, I was longing for a cup of 
good tea or a glass of fresh, sweet milk. 

A day or so more brought us to Guaymas, another 
Mexican port. Mrs. Wilkins said she had heard 
something about an old Spaniard there, who used to 
cook meals for stray travellers. This was enough. 
I was desperately hungry and thirsty, and we decided 

38 



DOWN THE PACIFIC COAST. 

to try and find him. Mrs. Wilkins spoke a little 
Spanish, and by dint of inquiries we found the man's 
house, a little old, forlorn, deserted-looking adobe 
casa. 

We rapped vigorously upon the old door, and after 
some minutes a small, withered old man appeared. 

Mrs. Wilkins told him what we wanted, but this 
ancient Delmonico declined to serve us, and said, 
in Spanish, the country was "a desert"; he had 
"nothing in the house"; he had "not cooked a meal 
in years"; he could not; and, finally, he would not; 
and he gently pushed the door to in our faces. But 
we did not give it up, and Mrs. Wilkins continued 
to persuade. I mustered what Spanish I knew, and 
told him I would pay him any price for a cup of coffee 
with fresh milk. He finally yielded, and told us to 
return in one hour. 

So we walked around the little deserted town. I 
could think only of the breakfast we were to have in 
the old man's casa. And it met and exceeded our 
wildest anticipations, for, just fancy ! We were served 
with a delicious bouUion, then chicken, perfectly 
cooked, accompanied by some dish flavored with chile 
verde, creamy biscuit, fresh butter, and golden coffee 
with milk. There were three or four women and 
several officers in the party, and we had a merry 
breakfast. We paid the old man generously, thanked 
him warmly, and returned to the ship, fortified to 

39 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

endure the sight of all the green ducks that came 
out of the lower hold. 

You must remember that the ''Newbern" was a 
small and old propeller, not fitted up for passengers, 
and in those days the great refrigerating plants were 
unheard of. The women who go to the Philippines 
on our great transports of to-day cannot realize and 
will scarcely believe what we endured for lack of ice 
and of good food on that never-to-be-forgotten voyage 
down the Pacific coast and up the Gulf of California 
in the summer of 1874. 

(40) 



CHAPTER V 

the: slue 

At last, after a voyage of thirteen days, we came 
to anchor a mile or so off Port Isabel, at the mouth 
of the Colorado River. A narrow but deep slue runs 
up into the desert land, on the east side of the river's 
mouth, and provides a harbor of refuge for the flat- 
bottomed stern-wheelers which meet the ocean steamers 
at this point. Hurricanes are prevalent at this sea- 
son in the Gulf of California, but we had been 
fortunate in not meeting with any on the voyage. 
The wind now freshened, however, and beat the waves 
into angry foam, and there we lay for three days on 
the "Newbern," off Port Isabel, before the sea was 
calm enough for the transfer of troops and baggage to 
the lighters. 

This was excessively disagreeable. The wind was 
like a breath from a furnace; it seemed as though 
the days would never end, and the wind never stop 
blowing. Jack's official diary says : "One soldier 
died to-day." 

Finally, on the fourth day, the wind abated, and 
the transfer was begun. We boarded the river steam- 
boat "Cocopah," towing a barge loaded with soldiers, 
and steamed away for the slue. I must say that we 
welcomed the change with delight. Towards the end 
of the afternoon the "Cocopah" put her nose to the 

41 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

sKbre and tied up. It seemed strange not to see piers 
and docks, nor even piles to tie to. Anchors were 
taken ashore and the boat secured in that manner: 
there being no trees of sufficient size to make fast 
to. 

The soldiers went into camp on shore. The heat 
down in that low, flat place was intense. Another 
man died that night. 

What was our chagrin, the next morning, to learn 
that we must go back to the "Newbern," to carry 
some freight from up-river. There was nothing to 
do but stay on board and tow that dreary barge, 
filled with hot, red, baked-looking ore, out to the 
ship, unload, and go back up the slue. Jack's diary 
records : *'Aug. 23rd. Heat awful. Pringle died to- 
day." He was the third soldier to succumb. It 
seemed to me their fate was a hard one. To die, 
down in that wretched place, to be rolled in a blanket 
and buried on those desert shores, with nothing but 
a heap of stones to mark their graves. 

The adjutant of the battalion read the burial service, 
and the trumpeters stepped to the edge of the graves 
and sounded ''Taps," which echoed sad and melan- 
choly far over those parched and arid lands. My 
eyes filled with tears, for one of the soldiers was from 
our own company, and had been kind to me. 

Jack said: "You musn't cry, Mattie ; it's a sol- 
dier's life, and when a man enlists he must take his 
chances." 

42 



THE SLUE 

"Yes, but," I said, ''somewhere there must be a 
mother or sister, or some one who cares for these poor 
men, and it's all so sad to think of." 

''Well, I know it is sad," he replied, soothingly, 
"but listen ! It is all over, and the burial party is 
returning." 

I listened and heard the gay strains of "The girl 
I left behind me," which the trumpeters were playing 
with all their might. "You see," said Jack, "it 
would not do for the soldiers to be sad when one of 
them dies. Why, it would demoralize the whole com- 
mand. So they play these gay things to cheer them 
up." 

And I began to feel that tears must be out of place 
at a soldier's funeral. I attended many a one after 
that, but I had too much imagination, and in spite 
of all my brave efforts, visions of the poor boy's 
mother on some little farm in Missouri or Kansas 
perhaps, or in some New England town, or possibly 
in the old country, would come before me, and my 
heart was filled with sadness. 

The Post Hospital seemed to me a lonesome place 
to die in, although the surgeon and soldier attendants 
were kind to the sick men. There were no women 
nurses in the army in those days. 

The next day, the "Cocopah" started again and 
towed a barge out to the ship. But the hot wind 
sprang up and blew fiercely, and we lay off and on 
all day, until it was calm enough to tow her back to 

43 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

the slue. By that time I had about given up all hope 
of getting any farther, and if the weather had only 
been cooler I could have endured with equanimity the 
idle life and knocking about from the ship to the 
slue, and from the slue to the ship. But the heat was 
unbearable. We had to unpack our trunks again and 
get out heavy-soled shoes, for the zinc which covered 
the decks of these river-steamers burned through the 
thin slippers we had worn on the ship. 

That day we had a little diversion, for we saw the 
''Gila" come down the river and up the slue, and tie 
up directly alongside of us. She had on board and in 
barges four companies of the Twenty-third Infantry, 
who were going into the States. We exchanged 
greetings and visits, and from the great joy mani- 
fested by them all, I drew my conclusions as to what 
lay before us, in the dry and desolate country we were 
about to enter. 

The women's clothes looked ridiculously old-fash- 
ioned, and I wondered if I should look that way when 
my time came to leave Arizona. 

Little cared they, those women of the Twenty- 
third, for, joy upon joys! They saw the ''Newbern" 
out there in the offing, waiting to take them back to 
green hills, and to cool days and nights, and to those 
they had left behind, three years before. 

On account of the wind, Avhich blew again with 
great violence, the "Cocopah" could not leave the slue 
that day. The officers and soldiers were desperate 

44 



THE SLUE 

for something to do. So they tried fishing, and 
caught some ''croakers," which tasted very fresh and 
good, after all the curried and doctored-up messes 
we had been obliged to eat on board ship. 

We spent seven days in and out of that slue. 
Finally, on August the 26th, the wind subsided and 
we started up river. Towards sunset we arrived at a 
place called "Old Soldier's Camp." There the 
'Gila" joined us, and the command was divided be- 
tween the two river-boats. We were assigned to the 
"Gila," and I settled myself down with my belong- 
ings, for the remainder of the journey up river. 

We resigned ourselves to the dreadful heat, and at 
the end of two more days the river had begun to 
narrow, and we arrived at Fort Yuma, which was at 
that time the post best known to, and most talked 
about by army officers of any in Arizona. No one 
except old campaigners knew much about any other 
post in the Territory. 

It was said to be the very hottest place that ever 
existed, and from the time we left San Francisco we 
had heard the story, oft repeated, of the poor soldier 
who died at Fort Yuma, and after awhile returned to 
beg for his blankets, having found the regions of 
Pluto so much cooler than the place he had left. But 
the fort looked pleasant to us, as we approached. It 
lay on a high mesa to the left of us and there was a 
little green grass where the post was built. 

None of the officers knew as yet their destination, 
45 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

and I found myself wishing it might be our good 
fortune to stay at Fort Yuma. It seemed such a 
friendly place. 

Lieutenant Haskell, Twelfth Infantry, who was 
stationed there, came down to the boat to greet us, 
and brought us our letters from home. He then ex- 
tended his gracious hospitality to us all, arranging 
for us to come to his quarters the next day for a meal, 
and dividing the party as best he could accommodate 
us. It fell to our lot to go to breakfast with Major 
and Mrs. Wells and Miss Wilkins. 

An ambulance was sent the next morning, at nine 
o'clock, to bring us up the steep and winding road, 
white with heat, which led to the fort. 

I can never forget the taste of the oatmeal with 
fresh milk, the eggs and butter, and delicious toma- 
toes, which were served to us in his latticed dining- 
room. 

After twenty-three days of heat and glare, and 
scorching winds, and stale food, Fort Yuma and 
Mr. Haskell's dining-room seemed like Paradise. 

Of course it was hot; it was August, and we ex- 
pected it. But the heat of those places can be much 
alleviated by the surroundings. There were shower 
baths, and latticed piazzas, and large ollas hanging in 
the shade of them, containing cool water. Yuma was 
only twenty days from San Francisco, and they were 
able to get many things direct by steamer. Of course 
there was no ice, and butter was kept only by in- 

46 



THE SLUE 

genious devices of the Chinese servants ; there were 
but few vegetables, but what was to be had at all in 
that country, was to be had at Fort Yuma. 

We staid one more day, and left two companies of 
the regiment there. When we departed, I felt, some- 
how, as though we were saying good-bye to the world 
and civilization, and as our boat clattered and tugged 
away up river with its great wheel astern, I could not 
help looking back longingly to old Fort Yuma. 

(47) 



CHAPTER VI 

UP THE RIO COLORADO 

And now began our real journey up the Colorado 
River, that river unknown to me except in my early 
geography lessons — that mighty and untamed river, 
which is to-day unknown except to the explorer, or 
the few people who have navigated its turbulent 
waters. Back in memory was the picture of it on the 
map; here was the reality, then, and here we were, 
on the steamer "Gila," Captain Mellon, with the 
barge full of soldiers towing on after us, starting for 
Fort Mojave, some two hundred miles above. 

The vague and shadowy foreboding that had flut- 
tered through my mind before I left Fort Russell had 
now also become a reality and crowded out every 
other thought. The river, the scenery, seemed, after 
all, but an illusion, and interested me but in a dreamy 
sort of way. 

We had staterooms, but could not remain in 
them long at a time, on account of the intense heat. 
I had never felt such heat, and no one else ever had 
or has since. The days were interminable. We 
wandered around the boat, first forward, then aft, to 
find a cool spot. We hung up our canteens (covered 
with flannel and dipped in water), where they would 
swing in the shade, thereby obtaining water which 

48 



UP THE RIO COLORADO. 

was a trifle cooler than the air. There was no ice, 
and consequently no fresh provisions. A Chinaman 
served as steward and cook, and at the ringing of a 
bell we all went into a small saloon back of the pilot- 
house, where the meals were served. Our party at 
table on the "Gila" consisted of several unmarried 
officers, and several officers with their wives, about 
eight or nine in all, and we could have had a merry 
time enough but for the awful heat, which destroyed 
both our good looks and our tempers. The fare was 
meagre, of course; fresh buscuit without butter, very 
salt boiled beef, and some canned vegetables, which 
were poor enough in those days. Pies made from 
preserved peaches or plums generally followed this 
delectable course. Chinamen, as we all know, can 
make pies under conditions that would stagger most 
chefs. They may have no marble pastry-slab, and the 
lard may run like oil, still they can make pies that 
taste good to the hungry traveller. 

But that dining-room was hot ! The metal handles 
of the knives were uncomfortably warm to the touch ; 
and even the wooden arms of the chairs felt as if they 
were slowly igniting. After a hasty meal, and a few 
remarks upon the salt beef, and the general misery of 
our lot, we would seek some spot which might be a 
trifle cooler. A siesta was out of the question, as the 
staterooms were insufferable; and so we dragged out 
the weary days. 

At sundown the boat put her nose up to the bank 
49 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

and tied up for the night. The soldiers left the 
barges and went into camp on shore, to cook their 
suppers and to sleep. The banks of the river offered 
no very attractive spot upon which to make a camp; 
they were low, flat, and covered with underbrush and 
arrow-weed, which grew thick to the water's edge. I 
always found it interesting to watch the barge unload 
the men at sundown. 

At twilight some of the soldiers came on board and 
laid our mattresses side by side on the after deck. 
Pajamas and loose gowns were soon en evidence, but 
nothing mattered, as they were no electric lights to 
disturb us with their glare. Rank also mattered not; 
Lieutenant-Colonel Wilkins and his wife lay down to 
rest, with the captains and lieutenants and their 
wives, wherever their respective strikers had placed 
their mattresses (for this was the good old time when 
the soldiers were allowed to wait upon officers' 
families). 

Under these circumstances, much sleep was not to 
be thought of ; the sultry heat by the river bank, and 
the pungent smell of the arrow-weed which lined the 
shores thickly, contributed more to stimulate than to 
soothe the weary nerves. But the glare of the sun 
was gone, and after awhile a stillness settled down 
upon this company of Uncle Sam's servants and their 
followers. (In the Army Regulations, wives are not 
rated except as ''camp followers.") 

But even this short respite from the glare of the 
50 



UP THE RIO COLORADO 

sun was soon to end ; for before the crack of dawn, or, 
as it seemed to us, shortly after midnight, came such a 
clatter with the fires and the high-pressure engine and 
the sparks, and what all they did in that wild and reck- 
less land, that further rest was impossible, and we 
betook ourselves with our mattresses to the staterooms^ 
for another attempt at sleep, which, however, meant 
only failure, as the sun rose incredibly early on that 
river, and we were glad to take a hasty sponge from a 
basin of rather thick looking river-water, and go again 
out on deck, where we could always get a cup of black 
coffee from the Chinaman. 

And thus began another day of intolerable glare 
and heat. Conversation lagged; no topic seemed to 
have any interest except the thermometer, which hung 
in the coolest place on the boat; and one day when 
Major Worth looked at it and pronounced it one 
hundred and twenty-two in the shade, a grim despair 
seized upon me, and I wondered how much more 
heat human beings could endure. There was nothing 
to relieve the monotony of the scenery. On each side 
of us, low river banks, and nothing between those 
and the horizon line. On our left was Lower * Cali- 
fornia, and on our right, Arizona. Both appeared to 
be deserts. 



*This term is here used (as we used it at Ehrenberg) to 
designate the low, flat lands west of the river, without any 
reference to Lower California proper,— the long peninsula 
belonging to Mexico. 

51 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

As the river narrowed, however, the trip began to 
be enHvened by the constant danger of getting 
aground on the shifting sand-bars which are so numer- 
ous in this mighty river. Jack Mellon was then the 
most famous pilot on the Colorado, and he was very 
skilful in steering clear of the sand-bars, skimming 
over them, or working his boat off, when once fast 
upon them. The deck-hands, men of a mixed Indian 
and Mexican race, stood ready with long poles, in 
the bow, to jump overboard, when we struck a bar, 
and by dint of pushing, and reversing the engine, the 
boat would swing off. 

On approaching a shallow place, they would sound 
with their poles, and in a sing-song high-pitched tone 
drawl out the number of feet. Sometimes their 
sleepy drawling tones would suddenly cease, and cry- 
ing loudly, ''No alii agiia!" they would swing them- 
selves over the side of the boat into the river, and 
begin their strange and intricate manipulations with 
the poles. Then, again, they would carry the anchor 
away off and by means of great spars, and some 
method too complicated for me to describe. Captain 
Mellon would fairly lift the boat over the bar. 

But our progress was naturally much retarded, and 
sometimes we were aground an hour, sometimes a 
half day or more. Captain Mellon was always cheer- 
ful. River steamboating was his life, and sand-bars 
were his excitement. On one occasion, I said, ''Oh! 
Captain, do you think we shall get off this bar to- 

52 



UP THE RIO COLORADO 

day?" ^'Well, you can't tell," he said, with a 
twinkle in his eye; "one trip, I lay fifty-two days on 
a bar," and then, after a short pause, "but that 
don't happen very often; we sometimes lay a week, 
though; there is no telling; the bars change all the 
time." 

Sometimes the low trees and brushwood on the 
banks parted, and a young squaw would peer out at 
us. This was a little diversion, and picturesque 
besides. They wore very short skirts made of 
stripped bark, and as they held back the branches of 
the low willows, and looked at us with curiosity, they 
made pictures so pretty that I have never forgotten 
them. We had no kodaks then, but even if we had 
had them, they could not have reproduced the fine 
copper color of those bare shoulders and arms, the 
soft wood colors of the short bark skirts, the gleam 
of the sun upon their blue-black hair, and the 
turquoise color of the wide bead-bands which encir- 
cled their arms. 

One morning, as I was trying to finish out a nap 
in my stateroom, Jack came excitedly in and said: 
"Get up, Martha, we are coming to Ehrenberg!" 
Visions of castles on the Rhine, and stories of the 
middle ages floated through my mind, as I sprang up, 
in pleasurable anticipation of seeing an interesting 
and beautiful place. Alas ! for my ignorance. I saw 
but a row of low thatched hovels, perched on the edge 
of the ragged looking river-bank ; a road ran length- 

53 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

wise along, and opposite the hovels I saw a store and 
some more mean-looking huts of adobe. 

"Oh! Jack!" I cried, "and is that Ehrenberg? Who 
on earth gave such a name to the wretched place?" 

"Oh, some old German prospector, I suppose; but 
never mind, the place is all right enough. Come! 
Hurry up! We are going to stop here and land 
freight. There is an officer stationed here. See those 
low white walls? That is where he lives. Captain 
Bernard of the Fifth Cavalry. It's quite a place; 
come out and see it." 

But I did not go ashore. Of all dreary, miserable- 
looking settlements that one could possibly imagine, 
that was the worst. An unfriendly, dirty, and Heaven- 
forsaken place, inhabited by a poor class of Mexicans 
and half-breeds. It was, however, an important ship- 
ping station for freight which was to be sent overland 
to the interior, and there was always one army officer 
stationed there. 

Captain Bernard came on board to see us. I did 
not ask him how he liked his station ; it seemed to me 
too satirical; like asking the Prisoner of Chillon, for 
instance, how he liked his dungeon. 

I looked over towards those low white walls, which 
enclosed the Government corral and the habitation of 
this officer, and thanked my stars that no such dread- 
ful detail had come to my husband. I did not dream 
that in less than a year this exceptionally hard fate 
was to be my own. 

54 



UP THE RIO COLORADO 

We left Ehrenberg with no regrets, and pushed on 
up river. 

On the third of September the boilers "foamed" so 
that we had to tie up for nearly a day. This was 
caused by the water being so very muddy. The Rio 
Colorado deserves its name, for its swift-flowing 
current sweeps by like a mass of seething red liquid, 
turbulent and thick and treacherous. It was said on 
the river, that those who sank beneath its surface 
were never seen again, and in looking over into those 
whirlpools and swirling eddies, one might well believe 
this to be true. 

From there on, up the river, we passed through 
great canons and the scenery was grand enough ; but 
one cannot enjoy scenery with the mercury ranging 
from 107 to 122 in the shade. The grandeur was 
quite lost upon us all, and we were suffocated by the 
scorching heat radiating from those massive walls of 
rocks between which we puffed and clattered along. 

I must confess that the history of this great river 
was quite unknown to me then. I had never read of 
the early attempts made to explore it, both from above 
and from its mouth, and the wonders of the "Grand 
Cafion" were as yet unknown to the world. I did not 
realize that, as we steamed along between those high 
perpendicular walls of rock, we were really seeing 
the lower end of that great chasm which now, thirty 
years later, has become one of the most famous resorts 
of this country and, in fact, of the world. 

55 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

There was some mention made of Major Powell, 
that daring adventurer, who, a few years previously, 
had accomplished the marvellous feat of going down 
the Colorado and through the Grand Canon, in a small 
boat, he being the first man who had at that time ever 
accomplished it, many men having lost their lives in 
the attempt. 

At last, on the 8th of September, we arrived at 
Camp Mojave, on the right bank cf the river; a low, 
square enclosure, on the low level of the flat land 
near the river. It seemed an age since we had left 
Yuma and twice an age sincje we had left the mouth 
of the river. But it was only eighteen days in all, and 
Captain Mellon remarked: "A quick trip!" and con- 
gratulated us on the good luck we had had in not 
being detained on the sandbars. ''Great Heavens," 
I thought, "if that is what they cah a quick trip!" 
But I do not know just what I thought, for those 
eighteen days on the Great Colorado in midsummer, 
had burned themselves into my memory, and I made 
an inward vow that nothing would ever force me 
into such a situation again. I did not stop to really 
think; I only felt, and my only feeling was a desire 

Dellenbaugh, who was with Powell in 1869 in his second 
expedition down the river in small boats, has given to 
the world a most interesting account of this wonderful river 
and the canons through M^hich it cuts its tempestuous way 
to the Gulf of California, in two volumes entitled ''The 
Koraance of the Great Colorado" and ''A Caiion Voyage ". 

56 



UP THE RIO COLORADO 

to get cool and to get out of the Territory in some 
other way and at some cooler season. How futile 
a wish, and how futile a vow ! 

We bade good-bye to our gallant river captain and 
watched the great stern-wheeler as she swung out 
into the stream, and, heading up river, disappeared 
around a bend ; for even at that tnue this venturesome 
pilot had pushed his boat farther up than any other 
steam-craft had ever gone, and we heard that there 
were terrific rapids and falls and unknown mysteries 
above. The superstition of centuries hovered over 
the "great cut," and but few civilized beings had 
looked down into its awful depths. Brave, dashing, 
handsome Jack Mellon ! What would I give and what 
would we all give, to see thee once more, thou Wizard 
of the Great Colorado ! 

We turned our faces towards the Mojave desert, 
and I wondered, what next? 

The Post Surgeon kindly took care of us for two 
days and nights, and we slept upon the broad piazzas 
of his quarters. 

We heard no more the crackling and fizzing of the 
stern-wheeler's high-pressure engines at daylight, and 
our eyes, tired with gazing at the red whirlpools of 
the river, found relief in looking out upon the grey- 
white flat expanse which surrounded Fort Mojave, 
and merged itself into the desert beyond. 

(57) 



CHAPTER VII 

THE MojAvi: di]:se;rt 

Thou white and dried-up sea! so old! 

So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold! ^ 

Yes, thou art old and hoary white 

With time and ruin of all things, 

And on thy lonesome borders Night 

Sits brooding o'er with drooping wings. 

—JOAQUIN MILLER. 

The country had grown steadily more unfriendly 
ever since leaving Fort Yuma, and the surroundings 
of Camp Mojave were dreary enough. 

But we took time to sort out our belongings, and 
the officers arranged for transportation across the 
Territory. Some had bought, in San Francisco, com- 
fortable travelling-carriages for their families. They 
were old campaigners ; they knew a thing or two about 
Arizona; we lieutenants did not know, we had never 
heard much about this part of our country. But a 
comfortable large carriage, known as a Dougherty 
wagon, or, in common army parlance, an ambulance, 
was secured for me to travel in. This vehicle had a 
large body, with two seats facing each other, and a 
seat outside for the driver. The inside of the wagon 
could be closed if desired by canvas sides and back 
which rolled up and down, and by a curtain which 

58 




■Jack" Mellon, the Famous Pilot 
of the Colorado River, 1875. 



THE MOJAVE DESERT 

dropped behind the driver's seat. So I was enabled 
to have some degree of privacy, if I wished. 

We repacked our mess-chest, and bought from the 
Commissary at Mojave the provisions necessary for 
the long journey to Fort Whipple, which was the 
destination of one of the companies and the head- 
quarters officers. 

On the morning of September loth everything in 
the post was astir with preparations for the first 
march. It was now thirty-five days since we left San 
Francisco, but the change from boat to land travelling 
offered an agreeable diversion after the monotony of 
the river. I watched with interest the loading of the 
great prairie-schooners, into which went the soldiers' 
boxes and the camp equipage. Outsitlc v/as lashed a 
good deal of the lighter stuff"; I noticed a barrel of 
china, which looked much like our own, lashed directly 
over one wheel. Then there were the massive blue 
army wagons, which were also heavily loaded; the 
laundresses with their children and belongings were 
pLiced in these. 

At last the command moved out. It was to me a 
novel sight. The wagons and schooners were each 
drawn by teams of six heavy mules, while a team of 
six lighter mules was put to each ambulance and 
carriage. These were quite dift'erent from the 
draught animals I had always seen in the Eastern 
States; these Government mules being sleek, well-fed 
and trained to trot as fast as the average carriage- 

59 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

horse. The harnesses were quite smart, being trim- 
med off with white ivory rings. Each mule was 
'Xize" or ''Fanny" or "Kate", and the soldiers 
who handled the lines were accustomed to the work; 
for work, and arduous work, it proved to be, as we 
advanced into the then unknown Territory of Arizona. 

The main body of the troops marched in advance; 
then came the ambulances and carriages, followed by 
the baggage-wagons and a small rear-guard. When 
the troops were halted once an hour for rest, the 
officers, who marched with the soldiers, would come to 
the ambulances and chat awhile, until the bugle call 
for "Assembly" sounded, when they would join their 
commands again, the men would fall in, the call "For- 
ward" was sounded, and the small-sized army train 
moved on. 

The first day's march was over a dreary country; 
a hot wind blew, and everything was filled with dust. 
I had long ago discarded my hat, as an unnecessary 
and troublesome article; consequently my head was 
now a mass of fine white dust, which stuck fast, of 
course. I was covered from head to foot with it, and 
it would not shake off, so, although our steamboat 
troubles were over, our land troubles had begun. 

We reached, after a few hours' travel, the desolate 
place where we were to camp. 

In the mean time, it had been arranged for Major 
Worth, who had no family, to share our mess, and 
we had secured the services of a soldier belonging to 

60 



THE MOJAVE DESERT 

his company whose ability as a camp cook was known 
to both officers. 

I cannot say that Hfe in the army, as far as I had 
gone, presented any very great attractions. This, our 
first camp, was on the river, a Httle above Hardyville. 
Good water was there, and that was all ; I had not yet 
learned to appreciate that. There was not a tree nor 
a shrub to give shade. The only thing I could see, 
except sky and sand, was a ruined adobe enclosure, 
with no roof. I sat in the ambulance until our tent 
was pitched, and then Jack came to me, followed by 
a six-foot soldier, and said: ''Mattie, this is Bowen, 
our striker ; now I want you to tell him what he shall 
cook for our supper; and — don't you think it would 
be nice if you could show him how to make some of 
those good New England doughnuts? I think Major 
Worth might like them; and after all the awful stuff 
we have had, you know,'' et c cetera, et ccctera. I met 
the situation, after an inward struggle, and said, 
weakly, "Where are the eggs?" "Oh," said he, "you 
don't need eggs ; you're on the frontier now ; you 
must learn to do without eggs." 

Everything in me rebelled, but still I yielded. You 
see I had been married only six months ; the women 
at home, and in Germany also, had always shown 
great deference to their husbands' wishes. But at 
that moment I almost wished Major Worth and Jack 
and Bowen and the mess-chest at the bottom of the 
Rio Colorado. However, I nerved myself for the 

6i 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

effort, and when Bowen had his camp-fire made, he 
came and called me. 

At the best, I never had much confidence in my 
ability as a cook, but as a camp cook! Ah, me! 
Everything seemed to swim before my eyes, and I 
fancied that the other women were looking at me from 
their tents. Bowen was very civil, turned back the 
cover of the mess-chest and propped it up. That was 
the table. Then he brought me a tin basin, and some 
flour, some condensed milk, some sugar, and a rolling- 
pin, and then he hung a camp-kettle with lard in it 
over the fire. I stirred up a mixture in the basin, 
but the humiliation of failure was spared me, for just 
then, without warning, came one of those terrific sand- 
storms which prevail on the deserts of Arizona, blow- 
ing us all before it in its fury, and filling everything 
\.7ith sand. 

We all scurried to the tents; some of them had 
1»lown down. There was not much shelter, but the 
storm was soon over, and we stood collecting our scat- 
tered senses. I saw Mrs. Wilkins at the door of her 
tent. She beckoned to me; I went over there, and 
she said: "Now, my dear, I am going to give you 
some advice. You must not take it unkindly. I am 
an old army woman and I have made many cam- 
paigns with the Colonel ; you have but just joined the 
army. You must never try to do any cooking at the 
camp-fire. The soldiers are there for that work, and 
they know lots more about it than any of us do." 

62 



THE MOJAVE DESERT 

"But, Jack," I began— 

"Never mind Jack," said she; "he does not know 
as much as I do about it; and when you reach your 
post," she added, "you can show him what you can 
do in that Hne." 

Bowen cleared away the sandy remains of the 
doubtful dough, and prepared for us a very fair 
supper. Soldiers' bacon, and coffee, and biscuits 
baked in a Dutch oven. 

While waiting for the sun to set, we took a short 
stroll over to the adobe ruins. Inside the enclosure 
lay an enormous rattlesnake, coiled. It was the first 
one I had ever seen except in a cage, and I was fas- 
cinated by the horror of the round, greyish-looking 
heap, so near the color of the sand on which it lay. 
Some soldiers came and killed it. But I noticed that 
Bowen took extra pains that night, to spread buffalo 
robes under our mattresses, and to place around them 
a hair lariat. "Snakes won't cross over that," he 
said, with a grin. 

Bowen was a character. Originally from some farm 
in Vermont, he had served some years with the 
Eighth Infantry, and for a long time in the same 
company under Major Worth, and had cooked for the 
bachelors' mess. He was very tall, and had a good- 
natured face, but he did not have much opinion of 
what is known as etiquette, either military or civil ; he 
seemed to consider himself a sort of protector to the 
officers of Company K, and now, as well, to the woman 

63 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

who had joined the company. He took us all under 
his wing, as it were, and although he had to be 
sharply reprimanded sometimes, in a kind of language 
which he seemed to expect, he was allowed more lati- 
tude than most soldiers. 

This was my first night under canvas in the army. 
I did not like those desert places, and they grew 
to have a horror for me. 

At four o'clock in the morning the cook's call 
sounded, the mules were fed, and the crunching and 
the braying were something to awaken the heaviest 
sleepers. Bowen called us. I was much upset by 
the dreadful dust, which was thick upon everything 
I touched. We had to hasten our toilet, as they were 
striking tents and breaking camp early, in order to 
reach before noon the next place where there was 
water. Sitting on camp-stools, around the mess-tables, 
in the open, before the break of day, we swallowed 
some black coffee and ate some rather thick slices of 
bacon and dry bread. The Wilkins' tent was near 
ours, and I said to them, rather peevishly: ''Isn't 
this dust something awful?" 

Miss Wilkins looked up with her sweet smile and 
gentle manner and replied: ''Why, yes, Mrs. Sum- 
merhayes, it is pretty bad, but you must not worry 
about such a little thing as dust." 

"How can I help it?" I said; "my hair, my clothes, 
everything full of it, and no chance for a bath or a 
change: a miserable little basin of water and " 

64 



THE MOJAVE DESERT 

I suppose I was running on with all my grievances, 
but she stopped me and said again: "Soon, now, you 
will not mind it at all. Ella and I are army girls, 
you know, and we do not mind anything. There's no 
use in fretting about little things." 

Miss Wilkins' remarks made a tremendous impres- 
sion upon my mind and I began to study her 
philosophy. 

At break of day the command marched out, their 
rifles on their shoulders, swaying along ahead of us, 
in the sunlight and the heat, which continued still 
to be almost unendurable. The dry white dust of 
this desert country boiled and surged up and around 
us in suffocating clouds. 

I had my own canteen hung up in the ambulance, 
but the water in it got very warm and I learned to 
take but a swallow at a time, as it could not be refilled 
until we reached the next spring — and there is always 
some uncertainty in Arizona as to whether the spring 
or basin has gone dry. So water was precious, and 
we could not afford to^waste a drop. 

At about noon^. w'e reached a forlorn mud hut, 
known as Packwood's ranch. But the place had a 
bar, which was cheerful for some of the poor men, 
as the two days' marches had been rather hard upon 
them, being so "soft" from the long voyage. I could 
never begrudge a soldier a bit of cheer after the hard 
marches in Arizona, through miles of dust and burn- 
ing heat, their canteens long emptied and their lips 

6s 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

parched and dry. I watched them often as they 
marched along with their blanket-rolls, their haver- 
sacks, and their rifles, and I used to wonder that they 
did not complain. 

About that time the greatest luxury in the entire 
world seemed to me to be a glass of fresh sweet milk, 
and I shall always remember Mr. Packwood's ranch, 
because we had milk to drink with our supper, and 
some delicious quail to eat. 

Ranches in that part of Arizona meant only low 
adobe dwellings occupied by prospectors or men who 
kept the relays of animals for stage routes. Wretched, 
forbidding-looking places they were ! Never a tree or 
a bush to give shade, never a sign of comfort or 
home. 

Our tents were pitched near Packwood's, out in 
the broiling sun. They were like ovens ; there was no 
shade, no coolness anywhere; we would have gladly 
slept, after the day's march, but instead we sat broil- 
ing in the ambulances, and waited for the long after- 
noon to wear away. 

The next day dragged along in the same manner; 
the command marching bravely along through dust 
and heat and thirst, as Kipling's soldier sings : 

''With its best foot first 
And the road a-sliding past. 
An' every bloomin' campin '-ground 
Exactly like the last". 

66 



/ THE MOJAVE DESERT 

Beal's Springs did not differ from the other ranch, 
except that possibly it was even more desolate. But 
a German lived there, who must have had some 
knowledge of cooking, for I remember that we bought 
a peach pie from him and ate it with a relish. I 
remember, too, that we gave him a good silver dollar 
for it. 

The only other incident of that day's march was 
the suicide of Major Worth's pet dog "Pete." Hav- 
ing exhausted his ability to endure, this beautiful red 
setter fixed his eye upon a distant range of mountains, 
and ran without turning, or heeding any call, straight 
as the crow flies, towards them and death. We never 
saw him again; a ranchman told us he had known 
of several other instances where a well-bred dog had 
given up in this manner, and attempted to run for 
the hills. We had a large greyhound with us, but 
he did not desert. 

Major Worth was much affected by the loss of his 
dog, and did not join us at supper that night. We 
kept a nice fat quail for him, however, and at about 
nine o'clock, when all was still and dark, Jack 
entered the Major's tent and said: "Come now. 
Major, my wife has sent you this nice quail ; don't 
give up so about Pete, you know." 

The Major lay upon his camp-bed, with his face 
turned to the w^all of his tent; he gave a deep sigh, 
rolled himself over and said : "Well, put it on the 

67 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

table, and light the candle; I'll try to eat it. Thank 
your wife for me." 

So the Lieutenant made a light, and lo ! and behold, 
the plate was there, but the quail was gone! In the 
darkness, our great kangaroo hound had stolen noise- 
lessly upon his master's heels, and quietly removed 
the bird. The two officers were dumbfounded. 

Major Worth said: ''D n my luck;" and turned 

his face again to the wall of his tent. 

Now Major Worth was just the dearest and gentlest 
sort of a man, but he had been born and brought up 
in the old army, and everyone knows that times and 
customs were different then. 

Men drank more and swore a good deal, and while 
I do not wish my story to seem profane, yet I would 
not describe army life or the officers as I knew them, 
if I did not allow the latter to use an occasional 
strong expression. 

The incident, however, served to cheer up the 
Major, though he continued to deplore the loss of his 
beautiful dog. 

For the next two days our route lay over the 
dreariest and most desolate country. It was not only 
dreary, it was positively hostile in its attitude towards 
every living thing except snakes, centipedes and 
spiders. They seemed to flourish in those surroundings 

Sometimes either Major Worth or Jack would come 
and drive along a few miles in the ambulance with 
me to cheer me up, and they allowed me to abuse the 

68 



MOJAVE DESERT. 

country to my heart's content. It seemed to do me 
much good. The desert was new to me then. I had 
not read Pierre Loti's wonderful book, 'Xe Desert," 
and I did not see much to admire in the desolate 
waste lands through which we were travelling. I did 
not dream of the power of the desert, nor that I 
should ever long to see it again. But as I write, the 
longing possesses me, and the pictures then indelibly 
printed upon my mind, long forgotten amidst the 
scenes and events of half a lifetime, unfold themselves 
like a panorama before my vision and call me to come 
back, to look upon them once more. 

(69) 



CHAPTER VIII 
i,e:arning how to soldier 

"The grasses failed, and then a mass 

Of dry red cactus ruled the land: 

The sun rose right above and fell, 

As falling molten from the skies, 

And no winged thing was seen to pass." 

—JOAQUIN MILLER. 

Wt MADE fourteen miles the n^t day, and went 
into camp at a place called Freeze-wash, near some 
old silver mines. A bare and lonesome spot, where 
there was only sand to be seen, and some black, 
burnt-looking rocks. From under these rocks, crept 
lizards, snakes, and great tarantulas, not forgetting 
the scorpion, which ran along with its tail turned up, 
ready to sting anything that came in its way. The 
place furnished good water, however, and that was 
now the most important thing. 

The next day's march was a long one. The guides 
said: "Twenty-eight miles to Willow Grove Springs." 

The command halted ten minutes every hour for 
rest, but the sun poured down upon us, and I was glad 
to stay in the ambulance. It was at these times that 
my thoughts turned back to the East and to the blue 
sea and the green fields of God's country. I looked 
out at the men, who were getting pretty well fagged, 

70 



LEARNING HOW TO SOLDIER 

and at the young officers whose uniforms were white 
with dust, and Frau Weste's words about glaensendes 
Blend came to my mind. I fell to thinking: was the 
army life, then, only "glittering misery," and had "1 
come to participate in it? 

Some of the old soldiers had given out, and had to 
be put on the army wagons. I was getting to look 
rather fagged and seedy, and was much annoyed at 
my appearance. Not being acquainted with the 
vicissitudes of the desert, I had not brought in my 
travelling-case a sufficient number of thin wash- 
bodices. The few I had soon became black beyond 
recognition, as the dust boiled (literally) up and into 
the ambulance and covered me from head to foot. 
But there was no help for it, and no one was much 
better off. 

It was about that time that we began to see the out- 
lines of a great mountain away to the left and north 
of us. It seemed to grow nearer and nearer, and 
fascinated our gaze/ 

Willow Grove S|^rings was reached at four o'clock, 
and the small cluster of willow trees was most refresh- 
ing to our tired eyes. The next day's march was 
over a rolling country. We began to see grass, and 
to feel that, at last, we were out of the desert. The 
wonderful mountain still loomed up large and clear 
on our left. I thought of the old Spanish explorers, 
and wondered if they came so far as this, when they 
journeyed through that part of our country three 

71 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

hundred years before. I wondered what beautiful 
and high-sounding name they might have given it. 
I wondered a good deal about that bare and isolated 
mountain, rising out of what seemed an endless waste 
of sand. I asked the driver if he knew the name 
of it: "That is Bill Williams' mountain, ma'am," he 
replied, and relapsed into his customary silence, which 
was unbroken except by an occasional remark to the 
wheelers or the leaders. 

I thought of the Harz Mountains, which I had so 
recently tramped over, and the romantic names and 
legends connected with them, and I sighed to think 
such an imposing landmark as this should have such 
a prosiac name. I realized that Arizona was not a 
land of romance; and when Jack came to the am- 
bulance, I said, "Don't you think it a pity that such 
monstrous things are allowed in America, as to call 
that great fine mountain 'Bill Williams' mountain'?" 

"Why no," he said; "I suppose he discovered it,, 
and I dare say -he had a hard enough time before he 
got to it." / 

We camped at Fort K6ck, and Lieutenant Bailey 
shot an antelope. It was the first game we had seen ; 
our spirits revived a bit; the sight of green grass 
and trees brought new life to us. ^ 

Anvil Rock and old Camp Hualapais were our next 
two stopping places. We drove through groves of 
oaks, cedars and pines, and the days began hope- 
fully and ended pleasantly. To be sure, the roads 

72 



LEARNING HOW TO SOLDIER 

were very rough and our bones ached after a long 
day's traveUing. But our tents were now pitched 
under tall pine trees and looked inviting. Soldiers 
have a knack of making a tent attractive. 

''Madame, the Lieutenant's compliments, and your 
tent is ready." 

I then alighted and found my little home awaiting 
me. The tent-flaps tied open, the mattresses laid, the 
blankets turned back, the camp-table with candle-stick 
upon it, and a couple of camp-chairs at the door of 
the tent. Surely it is good to be in the army I then 
thought ; and after a supper consisting of soldiers' 
hot biscuit, antelope steak broiled over the coals, and 
a large cup of black cofifee, I went to rest, listening 
to the soughing of the pines. 

My mattress was spread always upon the ground, 
with a bufifalo robe under it and a hair lariat around 
it, to keep off the snakes ; as it is said they do not like 
to cross them. I found the ground more comfortable 
than the camp cots which were used by some of the 
officers, and most of the women. 

The only Indians we had seen up to that time were 
the peacefu tribes of the Yumas, Cocopahs and Mo- 
ja\'es, who lived along the Colorado. We had not yet 
entered the land of the dread Apache. 

The nights were now cool enough, and I never knew 
sweeter rest than came to me in the midst of those 
pine groves. 

Our road was gradually turning southward, but 
73 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

for some days Bill Williams was the predominating 
feature of the landscape; turn whichever way we 
might, still this purple mountain was before us. It 
seemed to pervade the entire country, and took on 
such wonderful pink colors at sunset. Bill Williams 
held me in thrall, until the hills and valleys in the 
vicinity of Fort Whipple shut him out from my sight. 
But he seemed to have come into my life somehow, 
and in spite of his name, I loved him for the com- 
panionship he had given me during those long, hot, 
weary and interminable days. 

About the middle of September, we arrived at 
American ranch, some ten miles from Fort Whipple, 
which was the headquarters station. Colonel Wilkins 
and his family left us, and drove on to their destina- 
tion. Some officers of the Fifth Cavalry rode out to 
greet us, and Lieutenant Earl Thomas asked me to 
come into the post and rest a day or two at their 
house, as we then had learned that K Company was 
to march on to Camp Apache, in the far eastern part 
of the Territory . 

We were now enabled to get some fresh clothing 
from our trunks, which were in the depths of the 
prairie-schooners, and all the officers' wives were glad 
to go into the post, where we were most kindly enter- 
tained. Fort Whipple was a very gay and hospitable 
post, near the town of Prescott, which was the capital 
city of Arizona. The country being mountainous and 
fertile, the place was very attractive, and I felt sorry 

74 



LEARNING HOW TO SOLDIER 

that we were not to remain there. But I soon learned 
that in the army, regrets were vain. I soon ceased to 
ask myself whether I was sorry or glad at any change 
in our stations. 

On the next day the troops marched in, and camped 
outside the post. The married officers were able to 
join their wives, and the three days we spent there 
were delightful. There was a dance given, several 
informal dinners, drives into the town of Prescott, 
and festivities of various kinds. General Crook com- 
manded the Department of Arizona then ; he was out 
on some expedition, but Mrs. Crook gave a pleasant 
dinner for us. After dinner, Mrs. Crook came and 
sat beside me, asked kindly about our long journey, 
and added: *'I am truly sorry the General is away; 
I should like for him to meet you; you are just the 
sort of woman he likes." A few years afterwards I 
met the General, and remembering this remark, I was 
conscious of making a special effort to please. The 
indifferent courtesy with which he treated me, how- 
ever, led me to think that women are often mistaken 
judges of their husband's tastes. 

The officers' quarters at Fort Whipple were quite 
commodious, and after seven weeks' continuous trav- 
elling, the comforts which surrounded me at Mrs. 
Thomas' home seemed like the veriest luxuries. I 
was much affected by the kindness shown me by 
people I had never met before, and I kept wondering 
if I should ever have an opportunity to return their 

75 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

courtesies. "Don't worry about that, Martha," said 
Jack, "your turn will come." 

He proved a true prophet, for sooner or later, I 
saw them all again, and was able to extend to them 
the hospitality of an army home. Nevertheless, my 
heart grows warm whenever I think of the people who 
first welcomed me to Arizona, me a stranger in the 
army, and in the great southwest as well. 

At Fort Whipple we met also some people we had 
known at Fort Russell, who had gone down with the 
first detachment, among them Major and Mrs. Wil- 
helm, who were to remain at headquarters. We bade 
good-bye to the Colonel and his family, to the officers 
of F, who were to stay behind, and to our kind friends 
of the Fifth Cavalry. 

We now made a fresh start, with Captain Ogilby 
in command. Two days took us into Camp Verde, 
which lies on a mesa above the river from which it 
takes its name. 

Captain Brayton, of the Eight Infantry, and his 
wife, who were already settled at Camp Verde, re- 
ceived us and took the best care of us. Mrs. Brayton 
gave me a few more lessons in army house-keeping, 
and I could not have had a better teacher. I told 
her about Jack and the tinware; her bright eyes 
snapped, and she said: "Men think they know every- 
thing, but the truth is, they don't know anything; 
you go right ahead and have all the tinware and other 
things; all you can get, in fact; and when the time 

76 



LEARNING HOW TO SOLDIER 

comes to move, send Jack out of the house, get a 
soldier to come in and pack you up, and say nothing 
about it." 

"But the weight—" 

"Fiddlesticks! They all say that; now you just 
not mind their talk, but take all you need, and it will 
get carried along, somehow." 

Still another company left our ranks, and remained 
at Camp Verde. The command was now getting de- 
plorably small, I thought, to enter an Indian country, 
for we were now to start for Camp Apache. Several 
routes were discussed, but, it being quite early in the 
autumn, and the Apache Indians being just then com- 
paratively quiet, they decided to march the troops 
over Crook's Trail, which crossed the Mogollon range 
and was considered to be shorter than any other. It 
was all the same to me. I had never seen a map of 
Arizona, and never heard of Crook's Trail. Maps 
never interested me, and I had not read much about 
life in the Territories. At that time, the history of 
our savage races was a blank page to me. I had been 
listening to the stories of an old civilization, and 
my mind did not adjust itself readily to the new 
surroundings. 

(77) 



CHAPTER IX 

ACROSS the: mogollons 

It was a fine afternoon in the latter part of Sep- 
tember, when our small detachment, with Captain 
Ogilby in command, marched out of Camp Verde. 
There were two companies of soldiers, numbering 
about a hundred men in all, five or six officers, Mrs. 
Bailey and myself, and a couple of laundresses. I 
cannot say that we were gay. Mrs. Bailey had said 
good-bye to her father and mother and sister at Fort 
Whipple, and although she was an army girl, she did 
not seem to bear the parting very philosophically. 
Her young child, nine months old, was with her, and 
her husband, as stalwart and handsome an officer as 
ever wore shoulder-straps. But we were facing un- 
known dangers, in a far country, away from mother, 
father, sister and brother — a country infested with 
roving bands of the most cruel tribe ever known, who 
tortured before they killed. We could not even pre- 
tend to be gay. 

The travelling was very difficult and rough, and 
both men and animals were worn out by night. But 
we were now in the mountains, the air was cool and 
pleasant, and the nights so cold that we were glad to 
have a small stove in our tents to dress by in the 
mornings. The scenery was wild and grand; in fact, 

78 



ACROSS THE MOGOLLONS 

beyond all that I had ever dreamed of; more than 
that, it seemed so untrod, so fresh, somehow, and I 
do not suppose that even now, in the day of rail- 
roads and tourists, many people have had the view of 
the Tonto Basin which we had one day from the top 
of the MogoUon range. 

I remember thinking, as we alighted from our am- 
bulances and stood looking over into the Basin, 
"Surely I have never seen anything to compare with 
this — but oh ! would any sane human being voluntarily 
go through with what I have endured on this journey, 
in order to look upon this wonderful scene?" 

The roads had now become so difficult that our 
wagon-train could not move as fast as the lighter 
vehicles or the troops. Sometimes at a critical place 
in the road, where the ascent was not only dangerous, 
but doubtful, or there was, perhaps, a sharp turn, the 
ambulances waited to see the wagons safely over the 
pass. Each wagon had its six mules; each ambulance 
had also its quota of six. 

At the foot of one of these steep places, the wagons 
would halt, the teamsters would inspect the road, and 
calculate the possibilities of reaching the top; then, 
furiously cracking their whips, and pouring forth 
volley upon volley of oaths, they would start the team. 
Each mule got its share of dreadful curses. I had 
never heard or conceived of any oaths like those. 
They made my blood fairly curdle, and I am not 
speaking figuratively. The shivers ran up and down 

79 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

my back, and I half expected to see those teamsters 
struck down by the hand of the Ahiiighty. 

For akhough the anathemas hurled at my innocent 
head, during the impressionable years of girlhood, by 
the pale and determined Congregational ministers 
with gold-bowed spectacles, who held forth in the 
meeting-house of my maternal ancestry (all honor 
to their sincerity), had taken little hold upon my 
mind, still, the vital drop of the Puritan was in my 
blood, and the fear of a personal God and His wrath 
still existed, away back in the hidden recesses of 
my heart. 

This swearing and lashing went on until the heavily- 
loaded prairie-schooner, swaying, swinging, and swerv- 
ing to the edge of the cut, and back again to the 
perpendicular wall of the mountain, would finally 
reach the top, and pass on around the bend; then 
another would do the same. Each teamster had his 
own particular variety of oaths, each mule had a 
feminine name, and this brought the swearing down 
to a sort of personal basis. I remonstrated with Jack, 
but he said: teamsters always swore; "the mules 
wouldn't even stir to go up a hill, if they weren't 
sworn at like that." 

By the time we had crossed the great MogoUon 
mesa, I had become accustomed to those dreadful 
oaths, and learned to admire the skill, persistency and 
endurance shown by those rough teamsters. I actu- 
ally got so far as to believe what Jack had told me 

80 



ACROSS THE MOGOLLONS 

about the swearing being necessary, for I saw impos- 
sible feats performed by the combination. 

When near camp, and over the difficult places, we 
drove on ahead and waited for the wagons to come 
in. It was sometimes late evening before tents could 
be pitched and supper cooked. And oh ! to see the 
poor jaded animals when the wagons reached camp! 
I could forget my own discomfort and even hunger, 
when I looked at their sad faces. 

One night the teamsters reported that a six-mule 
team had rolled down the steep side of a mountain. 
I did not ask what became of the poor faithful mules ; 
I do not know, to this day. In my pity and real 
distress over the fate of these patient brutes, I forgot 
to inquire what boxes were on the unfortunate wagon. 

We began to have some shooting. Lieutenant Bailey 
shot a young deer, and some wild turkeys, and we 
could not complain any more of the lack of fresh food. 

It did not surprise us te leatn that ours was the 
first wagon-train to pass ovtr Crook's Trail. For 
miles and miles the so-called road was nothing but a 
clearing, and we were pitched and jerked from side to 
side of the ambulance, as we struck large rocks or 
tree-stumps; in some steep places, logs were chained 
to the rear of the ambulance, to keep it from pitching 
forward onto the backs of the mules. At such places 
I got out and picked my way down the rocky declivity. 

We now began to hear of the Apache Indians, who 
8i 



were always out, m either large or small Danas, aomg 
their murderous work. 

One day a party of horseman tore past us at a 
gahop. Some of them raised their hats to us as they 
rushed past, and our officers recognized General 
Crook, but we could not, in the cloud of dust, dis- 
tinguish officers from scouts. All wore the flannel 
shirt, handkerchief tied about the neck, and broad 
campaign hat. 

After supper that evening, the conversation turned 
upon Indians in general, and Apaches in particular. 
We camped always at a basin, or a tank, or a hole, or 
a spring, or in some canon, by a creek. Always from 
water to w^ater we marched. Our camp that night 
was in the midst of a primeval grove of tall pine 
trees; verily, an untrodden land. We had a big 
camp-fire, and sat around it until very late. There 
were only five or six officers, and Mrs. Bailey and 
myself. 

The darkness and blackness of the place were un- 
canny. We all sat looking into the fire. Somebody 
said, "Injuns would not have such a big fire as that." 

''No; you bet they wouldn't," was the quick reply 
of one of the officers. 

Then followed a long pause ; we all sat thinking, and 
gazing into the fire, which crackled and leaped into 
fitful blazes. 

"Our figures must make a mighty good outline 
against that fire," remarked one of officers, non- 
82 



ACROSS THE MOGOLLONS 

chalantly; ''I dare say those stealthy sons of Satan 
know exactly where we are at this minute," he added. 

''Yes, you bet your life they do !" answered one 
of the younger men, lapsing into the frontiersman's 
language, from the force of his convictions. 

''Look behind you at those trees. Jack," said Major 
Worth. "Can you see anything? No! And if there 
were an Apache behind each one of them, we should 
never know it." 

We all turned and peered into the black darkness 
which surrounded us. 

Another pause followed; the silence was weird — 
only the cracking of the fire was heard, and the 
mournful soughing of the wind in the pines. 

Suddenly, a crash ! We started to our feet and 
faced around. 

"A dead branch," said some one. 

Major Worth shrugged his shoulders, and turning 

to Jack, said, in a low tone, "D d if I don't believe 

I'm getting nervous," and saying "good-night," he 
walked tow^ards his tent. 

No element of doubt pervaded my mind as to my 
own state. The weird feeling of being up in those 
remote mountain passes, with but a handful of soldiers 
against the wary Apaches, the mysterious look of those 
black tree-trunks, upon which flickered the uncertain 
light of the camp-fire now dying, and from behind 
each one of which I imagined a red devil might be 
at that moment taking aim with his deadly arrow, 

83 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

all inspired me with fear such as I had never before 
known. 

In the cyclone which had overtaken our good ship 
in mid-Atlantic, where we lay tossing about at the 
mercy of the waves for thiry-six long hours, I had 
expected to yield my body to the dark and grewsome 
depths of the ocean. I had almost felt the cold arms 
of Death about me; but compared to the sickening 
dread of the cruel Apache, my fears then had been as 
naught. Facing the inevitable at sea, I had closed my 
eyes and said good-bye to Life. But in this mys- 
terious darkness, every nerve, every sense, was keenly 
alive with terror. 

Several of that small party around the camp-fire 
have gone from amongst us, but I venture to say that, 
of the few who are left, not one will deny that he 
shared in the vague apprehension which seized upon 
us. 

Midnight found us still lingering around the dead 
ashes of the fire. After going to our tent. Jack saw 
that I was frightened. He said: "Don't worry, 
Martha, an Apache never was known to attack in the 
night," and after hearing many repetitions of this 
assertion, upon which I made him take his oath, I 
threw myself upon the bed. After our candle was 
out, I said : "When do they attack ?" Jack who, with 
the soldiers' indifference to danger, was already half 
asleep, replied: "Just before daylight, usually, but 
do not worry, I say; there aren't any Injuns in this 

84 



ACROSS THE MOGOLLONS 

neighborhood. Why! Didn't you meet General 
Crook to-day? You ought to have some sense. If 
there'd been an Injun around here he would have 
cleaned him out. Now go to sleep and don't be 
foolish." But I was taking my first lessons in cam- 
paigning, and sleep was not so easy. 

Just before dawn, as I had fallen into a light slum- 
ber, the flaps of the tent burst open, and began 
shaking violently to and fro. I sprang to my feet, 
prepared for the worst. Jack started up: "What is 
it?" he cried. 

''It must have been the wind, I think, but it fright- 
ened me," I murmured. The Lieutenant fastened the 
tent-flaps together, and lay down to sleep again; but 
my heart beat fast, and I listened for every sound. 

The day gradually dawned, and with it my fears 
of the night were allayed. But ever after that, Jack's 
fatal answer, "J^^st before daylight," kept my eyes 
wide open for hours before the dawn. 

(85) 



CHAPTER X 
A pi:rilous adventure 

One EiNE afternoon, after a march of twenty-two 
miles over a rocky road, and finding our provisions 
low. Mr. Bailey and Jack went out to shoot wild 
tui-]:( > o. As t]iey shouldered their guns and walked 
away. Captain Ogilby called out to them, "Do not go 
too far from camp." 

Jack returned at sundown with a pair of fine 
turkeys, but Bailey failed to come in. However, as 
they all knew him to be an experienced woodsman, 
no one showed much anxiety until darkness had set- 
tled over the camp. Then they began to signal, by 
discharging their rifles; the officers went out in vari- 
ous directions, giving ''halloos," and firing at inter- 
vals, but there came no sound of the missing man. 

The camp was now thoroughly alarmed. This was 
too dangerous a place for a man to be wandering 
around in all night, and search-parties of soldiers were 
formed. Trees were burned, and the din of rifles, 
constantly discharged, added to the excitement. One 
party after another came in. They had scoured the 
country — and not a trace of Bailey. 

The young wife sat in her tent, soothing her little 
child; everybody except her, gave up hope; the time 
dragged on ; our hearts grew heavy ; the sky was alight 
with blazing trees. 

86 



A PERILOUS ADVENTURE 

I went into Mrs. Bailey's tent. She was calm and 
altogether lovely, and said : ''Charley can't get lost, 
and unless something has happened to him, he will 
come in." 

Ella Bailey w^as a brave young army woman; she 
was an inspiration to the entire camp. 

Finally, after hours of the keenest anxiety, a noise 
of gladsome shouts rang through the trees, and in 
came a party of men with the young officer on their 
shoulders. His friend Craig had been untiring in 
the search, and at last had heard a faint "halloo'' in 
the distance, and one shot (the only cartridge poor 
Bailey had left). 

After going over almost impassable places, they 
finally found him, lying at the bottom of a ravine. 
In the black darkness of the evening, he had walked 
directly over the edge of the chasm and fallen to the 
bottom, dislocating his ankle. 

He was some miles from camp, and had used up all 
his ammunition except the one cartridge. He had 
tried in vain to walk or even crawl out of the ravine, 
but had finally been overcome by exhaustion and lay 
there helpless, in the wild fastnesses of the mountains. 

A desparate situation, indeed! Some time after- 
wards, he told me how lie felt, when he realized how 
poor his chances were, wdien he saw he had only one 
cartridge left and found that he had scarce strength 
to answer a ''halloo," should he hear one. But soldiers 
never like to talk much about such things. 

(87) 



CHAPTER XI 

CAMP APACHE) 

By the fourth of October we had crossed the 
range, and began to see something which looked Hke 
roads. Our animals were fagged to a state of exhaus- 
tion, but the travelling was now much easier and 
there was good grazing, and after three more long 
day's marches, we arrived at Camp Apache. We 
were now at our journey's end, after two months' 
continuous travelling, and I felt reasonably sure of 
shelter and a fireside for the winter at least. I knew 
that my husband's promotion was expected, but the 
immediate present was filled with an interest so 
absorbing, that a consideration of the future was out 
of the question. 

At that time (it was the year of 1874) the officers' 
quarters at Camp Apache were log cabins, built near 
the edge of the deep canon through which the White 
Mountain River flows, before its junction with Black 
River. 

We were welcomed by the officers of the Fifth 
Cavalry, who were stationed there. It was altogether 
picturesque and attractive. In addition to the row 
of log cabins, there were enormous stables and 
Government buildings, and a sutler's store. We were 
entertained for a day or two, and then quarters were 

88 



CAMP APACHE 

assigned to us. The second lieutenants had rather a 
poor choice, as the quarters were scarce. We were 
assigned a half of a log cabin, which gave us one 
room, a small square hall, and a bare shed, the 
latter detached from the house, to be used for a 
kitchen. The room on the other side of the hall was 
occupied by the Post Surgeon, who was temporarily 
absent. 

Our things were unloaded and brought to this 
cabin. I missed the barrel of china, and learned that 
it had been on the unfortunate wagon which rolled 
down the mcuntain-side. I had not attained that state 
of mind which came to me later in my army life. I 
cared then a good deal about my belongings, and the 
annoyance caused by the loss of our china was quite 
considerable. I knew there was none to be obtained 
at Camp Apache, as most of the merchandise came 
in by pack-train to that isolated place. 

Mrs. Dodge, of the Twenty-third Infantry, who 
was about to leave the post, heard of my predicament, 
and offered me some china plates and cups, which 
she thought not worth the trouble of packing (so she 
said), and I was glad to accept them, and thanked 
her, almost with tears in my eyes. 

Bowen nailed down our one carpet over the poor 
board floor (after having first sprinkled down a thick 
layer of clean straw, which he brought from the 
quartermaster stables). Two iron cots from the hos- 
pital wen brought over, and two bed-sacks filled with 

89 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

fresh, sweet straw, were laid upon them; over these 
were laid our mattresses. Woven-wire springs were 
then unheard of in that country. 

We untied our folding chairs, built a fire on the 
hearth, captured an old broken-legged wash-stand and 
a round table from somewhere, and that was our 
living-room. A pine table was found for the small 
hall, which was to be our dinning-room, and some 
chairs with raw-hide seats were brought from the 
barracks, some shelves knocked up against one wall, 
to serve as sideboard. Now for the kitchen ! 

A cooking-stove and various things were sent over 
from the Q. M. store-house, and Bowen (the wonder 
of it!) drove in nails, and hung up my Fort Russell 
tin-ware, and put up shelves and stood my pans in 
rows, and polished the stove, and went out and stole a 
table somewhere (Bowen was invaluable in that way), 
polished the zinc under the stove, and lo ! and behold, 
my army kitchen ! Bowen was indeed a treasure ; he 
said he would like to cook for us, for ten dollars a 
month. We readily accepted this offer. There were 
no persons to be obtained, in these distant places, who 
could do the cooking in the families of officers, so it 
was customary to employ a soldier; and the soldier 
often displayed remarkable ability in the way of 
cooking, in some cases, in fact, more than in the way 
of soldiering. They liked the little addition to their 
pay, if they were of frugal mind; they had also their 
own quiet room to sleep in, and I often thought the 

90 



CAMP APACHE 

family life, offering as it did a contrast to the bare- 
ness and desolation of the noisy barracks, appealed to 
the domestic instinct, so strong in some men's natures. 
At all events, it was always easy in those days to get 
a man from the company, and they sometimes re- 
mained for years with an officer's family; in some 
cases attending drills and roll-calls besides. 

Now came the unpacking of the chests and trunks. 
In our one diminutive room, and small hall, was no 
closet, there were no hooks on the bare walls, no 
place to hang things or lay things, and what to do I 
did not know. I was in despair; Jack came in, to 
find me sitting on the edge of a chest, which was 
half unpacked, the contents on the floor. I was very 
mournful, and he did not see why. 

''Oh ! Jack ! I've nowhere to put things !" 

''What things?" said this impossible man. 

"Why, all our things," said I, losing my temper; 
"can't you see them?" 

"Put them back in the chests, — and get them out as 
you need them," said this son of Mars, and buckled 
on his sword. "Do the best you can, Martha, I have 
to go to the barracks ; be back again soon." I looked 
around me, and tried to solve the problem. There 
was no bureau, nothing; not a nook or corner where 
a thing might be stowed. I gazed at the motley 
collection of bed-linen, dust-pans, silver bottles, boot 
jacks, saddles, old uniforms, full dress military hats, 
sword-belts, riding-boots, cut glass, window-shades, 

91 



s 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

lamps, work-baskets, and books, and I gave it up in 
despair. You see, I was not an army girl, and I 
did not know how to manage. 

There was nothing to be done, however, but to 
follow Jack's advice, so I threw the boots, saddles 
and equipments under the bed, and laid the other 
things back in the chests, closed the lids and went 
out to take a look at the post. Towards evening, a 
soldier came for orders for beef, and I learned how 
to manage that. I was told that we bought our meats 
direct from the contractor; I had to state how much 
and what cuts I wished. Another soldier came to 
bring us milk, and I asked Jack who was the milkman, 
and he said, blessed if he knew; I learned, after- 
wards, that the soldiers roped some of the wild Texas 
cows that were kept in one of the Government corrals, 
and tied them securely to keep them from kicking; 
then milked them, and the milk was divided up among 
the officers' families, according to rank. We re- 
ceived about a pint every night. I declared it was 
not enough ; but I soon discovered that however much 
education, position and money might count in civil 
life, rank seemed to be the one and only thing in the 
army, and Jack had not much of that just then. 

The question of getting settled comfortably still 
worried me, and after a day of two, I went over 
to see what Mrs. Bailey had done. To my surprise, 
I found her out playing tennis, her little boy asleep 
in the baby-carriage, which they had brought all the 

92 



CAMP APACHE 

way from San Francisco, near the court. I joined 
the group, and afterwards asked her advice about 
the matter. She laughed kindly, and said : "Oh ! 
you'll get used to it, and things will settle them- 
selves. Of course it is troublesome, but you can 
have shelves and such things — you'll soon learn," and 
still smiling, she gave her ball a neat left-hander. 

I concluded that my New England bringing up 
had been too serious, and wondered if I had made a 
dreadful mistake in marrying into the army, or at 
least in following my husband to Arizona. I debated 
the question with myself from all sides, and decided 
then and there that young army wives should stay 
at home with their mothers and fathers, and not go 
into such wild and uncouth places. I thought my 
decision irrevocable. 

Before the two small deep windows in our room we 
hung some Turkey red cotton. Jack built in his spare 
moments a couch for me, and gradually our small 
quarters assumed an appearance of comfort. I turned 
my attention a little to social matters. We dined at 
Captain Montgomery's (the commanding officer's) 
house; his wife was a famous Washington beauty. 
He had more rank, consequently more rooms, than we 
had, and their quarters were very comfortable and at- 
tractive. 

There was much that was new and interesting at 
the post. The Indians who lived on this reservation 
were the White Mountain Apaches, a fierce and cruel 

93 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

tribe, whose depredations and atrocities had been 
carried on for years, in and around, and, indeed, far 
away from their mountain homes. But this tribe 
was now under surveihance of the Government, and 
guarded by a strong garrison of cavalry and infantry 
at Camp Apache. They were divided into bands, 
under Chiefs Pedro, Diablo, Patone and Cibiano; 
they came into the post twice a week to be counted, 
and to receive their rations of beef, sugar, beans, and 
other staples, which Uncle Sam's commissary officer 
issued to them. 

In the absence of other amusement, the officers' 
wives walked over to witness this rather solemn cere- 
mony. At least, the serious expression on the faces 
of the Indians, as they received their rations, gave 
an air of solemnity to the proceeding. 

Large stakes were driven into the ground ; at each 
stake, sat or stood the leader of a band; a sort of 
father to his people; then the rest of them stretched 
out in several long lines, young bucks and old ones, 
squaws and pappooses, the families together, about 
seventeen hundred souls in all. I used to walk up 
and down between the lines, with the other women, 
and the squaws looked at our clothes and chuckled, 
and made some of their inarticulate remarks to each 
other. The bucks looked admiringly at the white 
women, especially at the cavalry beauty, Mrs. Mont- 
gomery, although I thought that Chief Diablo cast 
a special eye at our young Mrs. Bailey, of the infantry. 

94 



CAMP APACHE 

Diablo was a handsome fellow. I was especially 
impressed by his extraordinary good looks. 

This tribe was quiet at that time, only a few 
renegades escaping into the hills on their wild adven- 
tures : but I never felt any confidence in them and 
was, on the whole, rather afraid of them. The squaws 
were shy, and seldom came near the officers' quarters. 
Some of the younger girls were extremely pretty ; they 
had delicate hands, and small feet encased in well- 
shaped moccasins. They wore short skirts made of 
stripped bark, which hung gracefully about their bare 
knees and supple limbs, and usually a sort of low- 
necked camisa, made neatly of coarse, unbleached 
muslin, with a band around the neck and arms, and, 
in cold weather a pretty blanket was wrapped around 
their shoulders and fastened at the breast in front. In 
summer the blanket was replaced by a square of 
bright calico. Their coarse, black hair hung in long 
braids in front over each shoulder, and nearly all of 
them wore an even bang or fringe over the forehead. 
Of course hats were unheard of. The Apaches, both 
men and women, had not then departed from the cus- 
toms of their ancestors, and still retained the extra- 
ordinary beauty and picturesqueness of their aborigi- 
nal dress. They wore sometimes a fine buckskin upper 
garment, and if of high standing in the tribe, neck- 
laces of elks teeth. 

The young lieutenants sometimes tried to make up 
to the prettiest ones, and offered them trinkets, 

95 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

pretty boxes of soap, beads, and small mirrors (so 
dear to the heart of the Indian girl), but the young 
maids were coy enough; it seemed to me they cared 
more for men of their own race. 

Once or twice, I saw older squaws with horribly 
disfigured faces. I supposed it was the result of 
some ravaging disease, but I learned that it was the 
custom of this tribe, to cut off the noses of those 
women who were unfaithful to their lords. Poor 
creatures, they had my pity, for they were only chil- 
dren of Nature, after all, living close to the earth, 
close to the pulse of their mother. But this sort of 
punishment seemed to be the expression of the cruel 
and revengeful nature of the Apache. 

(96) 



CHAPTER XII 

1,1:^1: AMONGST THE APACHIJS 

Bowe:n proved to be a fairly good cook, and I 
ventured to ask people to dinner in our little hall 
dining-room, a veritable box of a place. One day, 
feeling particularly ambitious to have my dinner a 
success, I made a bold attempt at oyster patties. With 
the confidence of youth and inexperience, I made the 
pastry, pnd it was a success; I took a can of Baltimore 
oysters, and did them up in a fashion that astonished 
myself, and when, after the soup, each guest was 
served with a hot oyster patty, one of the cavalry 
officers fairly gasped. "Oyster patty, if I'm alive! 
Where on earth — Bless my stars ! And this at Camp 
Apache !" 

"And by Holy Jerusalem ! they are good, too," ex- 
claimed Captain Reilly, and turning to Bowen, he 
said : "Bowen, did you make these ?" 

Bowen straightened himself up to his six foot two, 
clapped his heels together, and came to "attention,"' 
looked straight to the front, and replied : "Yes, sir." 

I thought I heard Captain Reilly say in an under- 
tone to his neighbor, "The hell he did," but I was 
not sure. 

At that season, we got excellent wild turkeys there, 
and good Southdown mutton, and one could not com- 
plain of such living. 

97 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

But I could never get accustomed to the wretched 
small space of one room and a hall; for the kitchen, 
being detached, could scarcely be counted in. I had 
been born and brought up in a spacious house, with 
plenty of bedrooms, closets, and an immense old-time 
garret. The forlorn makeshifts for closets, and the 
absence of all conveniences, annoyed me and added 
much to the difficulties of my situation. Added to 
this, I soon discovered that my husband had a pen- 
chant for buying and collecting things which seemed 
utterly worthless to me, and only added to the num- 
ber of articles to be handled and packed away. I 
begged him to refrain, and to remember that he was 
married, and that we had not the money to spend 
in such ways. He really did try to improve, and 
denied himself the taking of many an alluring share 
in raffles for old saddles, pistols, guns, and cow-boy's 
stuff, which were always being held at the sutler's 
store. 

But an auction of condemned hospital stores was 
too much for him, and he came in triumphantly one 
day, bringing a box of antiquated dentist's instru- 
ments in his hand. 

"Good gracious !" I cried, "what can you ever do 
with those forceps?" 

"Oh! they are splendid," he said, "and they will 
come in mighty handy some time." 

I saw that he loved tools and instruments, and I 
reflected, why not? There are lots of things I have 

98 



LIFE AMONGST THE APACHES 

a passion for, and love, just as he loves those things, 
and I shall never say any more about it. "Only," I 
added, aloud, "do not expect me to pack up such 
trash when we come to move; you will have to look 
out for it yourself." 

So with that spiteful remark from me, the episode 
of the forceps was ended, for the time at least. 

As the winter came on, the isolation of the place 
had a rather depressing effect upon us all. The 
officers were engaged in their various duties: drill, 
courts-martial, instruction, and other military occupa- 
tions. They found some diversion at "the store," 
where the ranchmen assembled and told frontier sto- 
ries and played exciting games of poker. Jack's duties 
as commissary officer kept him much away from me, 
and I was very lonely. 

The mail was brought in twice a week by a soldier 
on horseback. When he failed to come in at the usual 
time, much anxiety w^as manifested, and I learned 
that only a short time before, one of the mail-carriers 
had been killed by Indians and the mail destroyed. 
I did not wonder that on mail-day everybody came out 
in front of the quarters and asked: "Is the mail- 
carrier in?" And nothing much was done or thought 
of on that day, until we saw him come jogging in, 
the mail-bag tied behind his saddle. Our letters were 
from two to three weeks old. The eastern mail came 
via Santa Fe to the terminus of the railroad, and 
then by stage; for in 1874, the railroads did not 

99 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

extend very far into the Southwest. At a certain 
point on the old New Mexico road, our man met the 
San Carlos carrier, and received the mail for Apache. 

*'I do not understand," I said, "how any soldier 
can be found to take such a dangerous detail." 

"Why so ?" said Jack. "They like it." 

"I should think that when they got into those 
carious and narrow defiles, they Vv'ould think of the 
horrible fate of their predecessor," said I. 

"Perhaps they do," he answered; "but a soldier is 
always glad to get a detail that gives him a change 
from the routine of post life." 

I was getting to learn about the indomitable pluck 
of our soldiers. They did not seem to be afraid of 
anything. At Camp Apache my opinion of the Amer- 
ican soldier was formed, and it has never changed. 
In the long march across the Territory, they had 
cared for my wants and performed uncomplainingly 
for me services usually rendered by women. Those 
were before the days of lineal promotion. Officers 
remained with their regiments for many years. A 
feeling of regimental prestige held officers and men 
together. I began to share that feeling. I knew the 
names of the men in the company, and not one but 
was ready to do a service for the "Lieutenant's wife." 
"K" had long been a bachelor company; and now a 
young woman had joined it. I was a person to be 
pampered and cared for, and they knew besides that 
I was not long in the army. 

I GO 



LIFE AMONGST THE APACHES 

During that winter I received many a wild turkey 
and other nice things for the table, from the men 
of the company. I learned to know and to thoroughly 
respect the enlisted man of the American army. 

And now into the varied kaleidoscope of my army 
life stepped the Indian Agent. And of all unkempt, 
unshorn, disagreeable-looking personages who had 
ever stepped foot into our quarters, this was the 
worst. 

"Heaven save us from a Government which ap- 
points such men as that to watch over and deal with 
Indians," cried I, as he left the house. ''Is it pos- 
sible that his position here demands social recogni- 
tion?" I added. 

''Hush !" said the second lieutenant of K company. 
"It's the Interior Department that appoints the 
Indian Agents, and besides," he added, "it's not good 
taste on your part, Martha, to abuse the Government 
which gives us our bread and butter." 

"Well, you can say what you like, and preach policy 
all you wish, no Government on earth can compel me 
to associate with such men as those!" With that as- 
sertion, I left the room, to prevent farther argument. 

And I will here add that in my experience on the 
frontier, which extended over a long period, it was 
never my good fortune to meet with an Indian Agent 
who impressed me as being the right sort of a man 
to deal with those children of nature, for Indians are 
like children, and their intuitions are keen. They 

lOI 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

know and appreciate honesty and fair dealing, and 
they know a gentleman when they meet one. 

The winter came on apace, but the weather was 
mild and pleasant. One day some officers came in 
and said we must go over to the "Ravine" that 
evening, where the Indians were going to have a 
rare sort of a dance. 

There was no one to say to me: **Do not go," and, 
as we welcomed any little excitement which would 
relieve the monotony of our lives, we cast aside all 
doubts of the advisability of my going. So, after 
dinner, we joined the others, and sallied forth into 
the darkness of an Arizona night. We crossed the 
large parade-ground, and picked our way over a rough 
and pathless country, lighted only by the stars above. 

Arriving at the edge of the ravine, what a scene 
was before us ! We looked down into a natural amphi- 
theatre, in which blazed great fires; hordes of wild 
Apaches darted about, while others sat on logs beat- 
ing their tomtoms. 

I was afraid, and held back, but the rest of the 
party descended into the ravine, and, leaning on a 
good strong arm, I followed. We all sat down on the 
great trunk of a fallen tree, and soon the dancers 
came into the arena. 

They were entirely naked, except for the loin-cloth; 
their bodies were painted, and from their elbows and 
knees stood out bunches of feathers, giving them the 
appearance of huge flying creatures; jingling things 

1 02 



LIFE AMONGST THE APACHES 

were attached to their necks and arms. Upon their 
heads were large frames, made to resemble the branch- 
ing horns of an elk, and as they danced, and bowed 
their heads, the horns lent them the appearance of 
some unknown animal, and added greatly to their 
height. Their feathers waved, their jingles shook, 
and their painted bodies twisted and turned in the 
light of the great fire, which roared and leaped on 
high. At one moment they were birds, at another 
animals, at the next they were demons. 

The noise of the tomtoms and the harsh shouts of 
the Indians grew wilder and wilder. It was weird 
and terrifying. Then came a pause; the arena was 
cleared, and with much solemnity two wicked-looking 
creatures came out and performed a sort of shadow 
dance, brandishing knives as they glided through the 
intricate figures. 

It was a fascinating but unearthly scene, and the 
setting completed the illusion. Fright deprived me 
of the power of thought, but in a sort of subconscious 
way I felt that Orpheus must have witnessed just 
such mad revels when he went down into Pluto's re- 
gions. Suddenly the shouts became warwhoops, the 
demons brandished their knives madly, and nodded 
their branching horns ; the tomtoms were beaten with 
a dreadful din, and terror seized my heart. What if 
they be treacherous, and had lured our small party 
down into this ravine for an ambush! The thing 
could well be, I thought. I saw uneasiness in the 

103 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

faces of the other women, and by mutual consent we 
got up and slowly took our departure. I barely 
had strength to climb up the steep side of the hollow. 
I was thankful to escape from its horrors. 

Scarce three months after that some of the same 
band of Indians fired into the garrison and fled to the 
mountains. I remarked to Jack, that I thought we 
were very imprudent to go to see that dance, and he 
said he supposed we were. But I had never regarded 
life in such a light way as he seemed to. 

Women usually like to talk over their trials and 
their wonderful adventures, and that is why I am 
writing this, I suppose. Men simply will not talk 
about such things. 

The cavalry beauty seemed to look at this frontier 
life philosophically — what she really thought about it, 
I never knevv^ Mrs. Bailey was so much occupied by 
the care of her young child and various out-door 
amusements, that she did not, apparently, think much 
about things that happened around us. At all events, 
she never seemed inclined to talk about them. There 
was no one else to talk to; the soil was strange, and 
the atmosphere a foreign one to me ; life did not seem 
to be taken seriously out there, as it was back in New 
England, where they always loved to sit down and 
talk things over. I was downright lonesome for my 
mother and sisters. 

I could not go out very much at that time, so I 
occupied myself a good deal with needle-work. 

104 



LIFE AMONGST THE APACHES 

One evening we heard firing across the canon. Jack 
caught up his sword, buckhng on his belt as he went 
out. ''Injuns fighting on the other side of the river," 
some soldier reported. Finding that it did not con- 
cern us, Jack said, "Come out into the back yard, 
Martha, and look over the stockade, and I think you 
can see across the river." So I hurried out to the 
stockade, but Jack, seeing that I was not tall enough, 
picked up an empty box that stood under the window 
of the room belonging to the Doctor, when, thud ! 
fell something out onto the ground, and rolled away. 
I started involuntarily. It was dark in the yard. I 
stood stock still. ''What was that?" I whispered. 

"Nothing but an old Edam cheese," said this true- 
hearted soldier of mine. I knew it was not a cheese, 
but said no more. I stood up on the box, watched the 
firing like a man, and went quietly back into the 
quarters. After retiring, I said, "You might just as 
well tell me now, you will have to sooner or later, 
what was in the box — it had a dreadful sound, as it 
rolled away on the ground." 

"Well," said he, "if you must know, it was an 
Injun's head that the Doctor had saved, to take to 
Washington with him. It had a sort of a malformed 
skull or jaw-bone or something. But he left it behind 
— I guess it got a leetle to old for him to carry," he 
laughed. "Somebody told me there was a head in 
the yard, but I forgot all about it. Lucky thing 3^ou 
didn't see it, wasn't it? I suppose you'd been scared 

105 

s 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

—well, I must tell the fatigue party to-morrow to 
take it away. Now don't let me forget it," and this 
soldier of many battles fell into the peaceful slumber 
which comes to those who know not fear. 

The next day I overheard him telling Major Worth 
what had happened, and adding that he would roast 
that Doctor if he ever came back. I was seeing the 
rugged side of life, indeed, and getting accustomed 
to shocks. 

Now the cavalry beauty gave a dinner. It was 
lovely; but in the midst of it, we perceived a sort of 
confusion of moccasined footsteps outside the dining- 
room. My nerves were, by this time, always on the 
alert. I glanced through the large door opening out 
into the hall, and saw a group of Indian scouts; they 
laid a coffee-sack down by the corner fire-place, near 
the front door. The commanding officer left the table 
hastily; the portiere was drawn. 

I had heard tales of atrocious cruelties committed 
by a band of Indians who had escaped from the 
reservation and were ravaging the country around. 
I had heard how they maimed poor sheep and cut off 
the legs of cattle at the first joint, leaving them to die; 
how they tortured women, and burned their husbands 
and children before their eyes ; I had heard also that 
the Indian scouts were out after them, with orders to 
bring them in, dead or alive. 

The next day I learned that the ringleader's head 
was in the bag that I had seen, and that the others 

io6 




T3 

s 

u 

OS 

pq 



•^ ^ 



5? 



si 




Captain William T. Worth, Brevet-Major, U. S. A. 
Afterwards Brigadier-General. 



O 



LIFE AMONGST THE APACHES 

had surrendered and returned. The scouts were 
Apaches in the pay of the Government, and I always 
heard that, as long as they were serving as scouts, 
they showed themselves loyal and would hunt down 
their nearest relative. 

Major Worth got tired of the monotony of a 
bachelor's life at Camp Apache and decided to give 
a dance in his quarters, and invite the chiefs. I think 
the other officers did not wholly approve of it, al- 
though they felt friendly enough towards them, as 
long as they were not causing disturbances. But tc 
meet the savage Apache on a basis of social equality, 
in an officer's quarters, and to dance in a quadrille 
with him! Well, the limit of all things had been 
reached ! 

However, Major Worth, who was actually sufifering 
from the ennui of frontier life in winter, and in time 
of peace, determined to carry out his project, so he 
had his quarters, which were quite spacious, cleared 
and decorated with evergreen boughs. From his com- 
pany, he secured some men who could play the banjo 
and guitar, and all the officers and their wives, and 
the chiefs with their harems, came to this novel fete. 
A quadrille was formed, in which the chiefs danced 
opposite the officers. The squaws sat around, as they 
were too shy to dance. These chiefs were painted, 
and wore only their necklaces and the customary loin- 
cloth, throwing their blankets about their shoulders 

107 



O 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

when they had finished dancing. I noticed again 
Chief Diablo's great good looks. 

Conversation was carried on principally by signs 
and nods, and through the interpreter (a white man 
named Cooley). Besides, the officers had picked up 
many short phrases of the harsh and gutteral Apache 
tongue. 

Diablo was charmed with the young, handsome wife 
of one of the officers, and asked her husband how 
many ponies he would take for her, and Pedro asked 
Major Worth, if all those white squaws belonged to 
him. 

The party passed off pleasantly enough, and was 
not especially subversive to discipline, although I 
believe it was not repeated. 

Afterwards, long afterwards, when we were sta- 
tioned at David's Island, New York Harbor, and 
Major Worth was no longer a bachelor, but a dignified 
married man and had gained his star in the Spanish 
War, we used to meet occasionally down by the barge 
office or taking a Fenster-promenade on Broadway, 
and we would always stand awhile and chat over the 
old days at Camp Apache in '74. Never mind how 
pressing our mutual engagements were, we could 
never forego the pleasure of talking over those wild 
days and contrasting them with our then present sur- 
roundings. ''Shall you ever forget my party?" he 
said, the last time we met. 



(108) 



CHAPTER XIII 

A NEW RECRUIT 

In January our little boy arrived, to share our 
fate and to gladden our hearts. As he was the first 
child born to an officer's family in Camp Apache, 
there was the greatest excitement. All the sheep- 
ranchers and cattlemen for miles around came into 
the post. The beneficent canteen, with its soldiers' 
and officers' club-rooms did not exist then. So they 
all gathered at the sutler's store, to celebrate events 
with a round of drinks. They wanted to shake hands 
with and congratulate the new father, after their 
fashion, upon the advent of the blond-haired baby. 
Their great hearts went out to him, and they vied with 
each other in doing the handsome thing by him, in a 
manner according to their lights, and their ideas of 
wishing well to a man ; a manner, sometimes, alas ! 
disastrous in its results to the man ! However, by this 
time, I was getting used to all sides of frontier life. 

I had no time to be lonely now, for I had no nurse, 
and the only person who was able to render me service 
was a laundress of the Fifth Cavalry, who came for 
about two hours each day, to give the baby his bath 
and to arrange things about the bed. I begged her to 
stay with me, but, of course, I knew it was impossible. 

So here I was, inexperienced and helpless, alone in 
109 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

bed, with an infant a few days old. Dr. Loring, our 
excellent Post Surgeon, was both kind and skillful, 
but he was in poor health and expecting each day to 
be ordered to another station. My husband was 
obliged to be at the Commissary Office all day, issuing 
rations to troops and scouts, and attending to the duties 
of his position. 

But, realizing in a measure the utter helplessness of 
my situation, he sent a soldier up to lead a wire cord 
through the thick wall at the head of my bed and 
out through the small yard into the kitchen. To this 
they attached a big cow-bell, so, by making some con- 
siderable effort to reach up and pull this wire, I could 
summon Bowen, that is, if Bo wen happened to be 
there. But Bowen seemed always to be out at drill or 
over at the company quarters, and frequently my 
bell brought no reponse. When he did come, however, 
he was just as kind and just as awkward as it was 
possible for a great big six-foot farmer-soldier to be. 

But I grew weaker and weaker with trying to be 
strong, and one day when Jack came in and found 
both the baby and myself crying, he said, man-like, 
"What's the matter?" I said, "I must have some one 
to take care of me, or we shall both die." 

He seemed to realize that the situation was desper- 
ate, and mounted men were sent out immediately in 
all directions to find a woman. 

At last, a Mexican girl was found in a wood- 
chopper's camp, and was brought to me. She was 

no 



A NEW RECRUIT 

quite young and very ignorant and stupid, and spoke 
nothing but a sort of Mexican ''lingo," and did not 
understand a word of English. But I felt that my 
life was saved; and Bowen fixed up a place on the 
couch for her to sleep, and Jack went over to the 
unoccupied room on the other side of the cabin and 
took possession of the absent doctor's bed. 

I begged Jack to hunt up a Spanish dictionary, and 
fortunately one was found at the sutler's store, which, 
doubtless the sutler or his predecessor had brought 
into the country years before. 

The girl did not know anything. I do not think 
she had ever been inside a casa before. She had 
washed herself in mountain streams, and did not 
know what basins and sponges were for. So it was 
of no use to point to the objects I wanted. 

I propped myself up in bed and studied the dic- 
tionary, and, having some idea of the pronunciation 
of Latin languages, I essayed to call for warm water 
and various other necessary articles needed around a 
sick bed. Sometimes I succeeded in getting an idea 
through her impervious brain, but more often she 
would stand dazed and immovable and I would let 
the dictionary drop from my tired hands and fall 
back upon the pillow in a sweat of exhaustion. Then 
Bowen would be called in, and with the help of some 
perfunctory language and gestures on his part, this 
silent creature of the mountains would seem to wake 
up and try to understand. 
Ill 



^^^ 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

And so I worried through those dreadful days — 
and the nights ! Ah ! we had better not describe them. 
The poor wnld thing slept the sleep of death and could 
not hear my loudest calls nor desperate shouts. 

So Jack attached a cord to her pillow, and I would 
tug and tug at that and pull the pillow from under her 
head. It was of no avail. She slept peacefully on, and 
it seemed to me, as I lay there staring at her, that not 
even Gabriel's trump would ever arouse her. 

In desperation I would creep out of bed and wait 
upon myself and then confess to Jack and the Doctor 
next day. 

Well, we had to let the creature go, for she was of 
no use, and the Spanish dictionary was laid aside. 

I struggled along, fighting against odds ; how I ever 
got well at all is a wonder, when I think of all the 
sanitary precautions taken now-a-days with young 
mothers and babies. The Doctor was ordered away 
and another one came. I had no advice or help from 
any one. Calomel or quinine are the only medicines 
I remember taking myself or giving to my child. 

But to go back a little. The seventh day after the 
birth of the baby, a delegation of several squaws, 
wives of chiefs, came to pay me a formal visit. They 
brought me some finely woven baskets, and a beauti- 
ful pappoose-basket or cradle, such as they carry their 
own babies in. This was made of the lightest wood, 
and covered with the finest skin of fawn, tanned with 
birch bark by their own hands, and embroidered in 

112 



A NEW RECRUIT 

blue beads ; it was their best work. I admired it, and 
tried to express to them my thanks. These squaws 
took my baby (he was lying beside me on the bed), 
then, cooing and chuckling, they looked about the 
room, until they found a small pillow, which they 
laid into the basket-cradle, then put my baby in, drew 
the flaps together, and laced him into it; then stood 
it up, and laid it down, and laughed again in their 
gentle manner, and finally soothed him to sleep. I 
was quite touched by the friendliness of it all. They 
laid the cradle on the table and departed. Jack went 
out to bring Major Worth in, to see the pretty sight, 
and as the two entered the room. Jack pointed to the 
pappoose-basket. 

Major Worth tip-toed forward, and gazed into the 
cradle ; he did not speak for some time ; then, in his 
inimitable way, and half under his breath, he said, 
slowly, "Well, I'll be d— d!" This was all, but 
when he turned towards the bedside, and came and 
shook my hand, his eyes shone with a gentle and 
tender look. 

And so was the new recruit introduced to the 
Captain of Company K. 

And now there must be a bath-tub for the baby. 
The sutler rummaged his entire place, to find some- 
thing that might do. At last, he sent me a freshly 
scoured tub, that looked as if it might, at no very 
remote date, have contained salt mackerel marked 
"A One." So then, every morning at nine o'clock, 

113 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

our little half-window was black with the heads of 
the curious squaws and bucks, trying to get a glimpse 
of the fair baby's bath. A wonderful performance, 
it appeared to them. 

Once a week this room, which was now a nursery 
combined with bedroom and living-room, was over- 
hauled by the stalwart Bowen. The baby was put 
to sleep and laced securely into the pappoose-basket. 
He was then carried into the kitchen, laid on the 
dresser, and I sat by with a book or needle-work 
watching him, until Bowen had finished the room. 
On one of these occasions, I noticed a ledger lying 
upon one of the shelves. I looked into it, and imagine 
my astonishment, when I read : "Aunt Hepsey's 
Muffins," ''Sarah's Indian Pudding," and on another 
page, "Hatty's Lemon Tarts," "Aunt Susan's Method 
of Cooking a Leg of Mutton," and "Josie Well's 
Pressed Calf Liver." Here were my own, my very 
own family recipes, copied into Bowen's ledger, in 
large illiterate characters; and on the fly-leaf, 
"Charles Bowen's Receipt Book." I burst into a 
good hearty laugh, almost the first one I had enjoyed 
since I arrived at Camp Apache. 

The long-expected promotion to a first lieutenancy 
came at about this time. Jack was assigned to a 
company which was stationed at Camp MacDowell, but 
his departure for the new post was delayed until the 
spring should be more advanced and I should be able 
to undertake the long, rough trip with our young child. 

114 



A NEW RECRUIT 

The second week in April, my baby just nine weeks 
old, we began to pack up. I had gained a little in 
experience, to be sure, but I had lost my health and 
strength. I knew nothing of the care of a young 
infant, and depended entirely upon the advice of the 
Post Surgeon, who happened at that time to be a 
young man, much better versed in the sawing off 
of soldiers' legs than in the treatment of young 
mothers and babies. 

The packing up was done under difficulties, and 
with much help from our faithful Bowen. It was 
arranged for Mrs. Bailey, who was to spend the sum- 
mer with her parents at Fort Whipple, to make the 
trip at the same time, as our road to Camp MacDowell 
took us through Fort Whipple. There were provided 
two ambulances with six mules each, two baggage- 
wagons, an escort of six calvarymen fully armed, and 
a guide. Lieutenant Bailey was to accompany his 
wife on the trip. 

I was genuinely sorry to part with Major Worth, 
but in the excitement and fatigue of breaking up our 
home, I had little time to think of my feelings. My 
young child absorbed all my time. Alas ! for the 
ignorance of young women, thrust by circumstances 
into such a situation ! I had miscalculated my 
strength, for I had never known illness in my life, 
and there was no one to tell me any better. I reck- 
oned upon my superbly healthy nature to bring me 

"5 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

through. In fact, I did not think much about it; I 
simply got ready and went, as soldiers do. 

I heard them say that we were not to cross the 
Mogollon range, but were to go to the north of it, 
ford the Colorado Chiquito at Sunset Crossing, and 
so on to Camp Verde and Whipple Barracks by the 
Stoneman's Lake road. It sounded poetic and pretty. 
Colorado Chiquito, Sunset Crossing, and Stoneman's 
Lake road! I thought to myself, they were prettier 
than any of the names I had heard in Arizona. 

(116) 



CHAPTER XIV 
A me;morabi,e: journey 

How broken plunged the steep descent! 
How barren! Desolate and rent 
By earthquake shock, the land lay dead, 
Like some proud king in old-time slain. 
An ugly skeleton, it gleamed 
In burning sands. The fiery rain 
Of fierce volcanoes here had sown 
Its ashes. Burnt and black and seamed 
With thunder-strokes and strown 
With cinders. Yea, so overthrown. 
That wilder men than we had said, 
On seeing this, with gathered breath, 
"We come on the confines of death!" 

—JOAQUIN MILLER. 

Six good cavalrymen galloped along by our side, 
on the morning of April 24th, 1875, as with two 
ambulances, two army wagons, and a Mexican guide, 
we drove out of Camp Apache at a brisk trot. 

The drivers were all armed, and spare rifles hung 
inside the ambulances. I wore a small derringer, 
with a narrow belt filled with cartridges. An incon- 
gruous sight, methinks now, it must have been. A 
young mother, pale and thin, a child of scarce three 
months in her arms, and a pistol belt around her 
waist ! 

I scarcely looked back at Camp Apache. We had a 
long day's march before us, and we looked ahead. 
Towards night we made camp at Cooley's ranch, and 

117 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

slept inside, on the floor. Coole}^ was interpreter and 
scout, and although he was a \yliite man, he had 
married a young Indian girl, the daughter of one of 
the chiefs and was known as a squaw man. There 
seemed to be two Indian girls at his ranch ; they were 
both tidy and good-looking, and they prepared us a 
most appetizing supper. 

The ranch had spaces for windows, covered with 
thin unbleached muslin (or manta, as it is always 
called out there), glass windows being then too great 
a luxury in that remote place. There were some par- 
titions inside the ranch, but no doors ; and, of course, 
no floors except adobe. Several half-breed children, 
nearly naked, stood and gazed at us as we prepared 
for rest. This was interesting and picturesque from 
many standpoints perhaps, but it did not tend to make 
me sleepy. I lay gazing into the fire which was 
smouldering in the corner, and finally I said, in a 
whisper, "J^^k, which girl do you think is Cooley's 
wife?" 

**I don't know," answered this cross and tired man; 
and then added, "both of 'em, I guess." 

Now this was too awful, but I knew he did not 
intend for me to ask any more questions. I had a 
difiicult time, in those days, reconciling what I saw 
with what I had been taught was right, and I had to 
sort over my ideas and deep-rooted prejudices a good 
many times. 

ii8 



A MEMORABLE JOURNEY 

The two pretty squaws prepared a nice breakfast 
for us, and we set out, quite refreshed, to travel over 
the malapais (as the great lava-beds in that part 
of the country are called). There was no trace of a 
road. A few hours of this grinding and crunching 
over crushed lava wearied us all, and the animals 
found it hard pulling, although the country was level. 

We crossed Silvet Creek without difficulty, and ar- 
rived at Stinson's ranch, after traveling twenty-five 
miles, mostly malapais. Do not for a moment 
think of these ranches as farms. Some of them were 
deserted sheep ranches, and had only adobe walls 
standing in ruins. But the camp must have a name, 
and on the old maps of Arizona these names are still 
to be found. Of course, on the new railroad maps, 
they are absent. They were generally near a spring 
or a creek, consequently were chosen as camps. 

Mrs. Bailey had her year-old boy, Howard, with her. 
We began to experience the utmost inconvenience from 
the lack of warm water and other things so necessary 
to the health and comfort of children. But we tried 
to make light of it all, and the two Lieutenants tried, 
in a man's way, to help us out. We declared we must 
have some clean towels for the next day, so we tried 
to rinse out, in the cold, hard water of the well, those 
which we had with us, and, as it was now nightfall 
and there was no fire inside this apparently deserted 
ranch, the two Lieutenants stood and held the wet 
towels before the camp-fire until they were dry. 

119 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Mrs. Bailey and I, too tired to move, sat and 
watched them and had each our own thoughts. She 
was an army girl and perhaps had seen such things 
before, but it was a situation that did not seem quite 
in keeping with my ideas of the fitness of things in 
general, and with the uniform in particular. The 
uniform, associated in my mind with brilliant func- 
tions, guard-mount, parades and full-dress weddings 
— the uniform, in fact, that I adored. As I sat, 
gazing at them, they both turned around, and, realiz- 
ing how almost ludicrous they looked, they began to 
laugh. Whereupon we all four laughed and Jack 
said : "Nice work for United States officers ! hey, 
Bailey?" 

"It might be worse," sighed the handsome, blond- 
haired Bailey. 

Thirty miles the next day, over a good road, brought 
us to Walker's ranch, on the site of old Camp Supply. 
This ranch was habitable in a way, and the owner 
said we might use the bedrooms; but the wild-cats 
about the place were so numerous and so troublesome 
in the night, that we could not sleep. I have men- 
tioned the absence of windows in these ranches; we 
were now to experience the great inconvenience result- 
ing therefrom, for the low open spaces furnished 
great opportunity for the cats. In at one opening, 
and out at another they flew, first across the Bailey's 
bed, then over ours. The dogs caught the spirit of 
the chase, and added their noise to that of the cats. 

120 



A MEMORABLE JOURNEY 

Both babies began to cry, and then up got Bailey 
and threw his heavy campaign boots at the cats, with 
some fitting remarks. A momentary silence reigned, 
and we tried again to sleep. Back came the cats, and 
then came Jack's turn with boots and travelling 
satchels. It was all of no avail, and we resigned our- 
selves. Cruelly tired, here we were, we two women, 
compelled to sit on hard boxes or the edge of a bed, to 
quiet our poor babies, all through that night, at that 
old sheep-ranch. Like the wretched emigrant, differ- 
ing only from her inasmuch as she, never having 
known comfort perhaps, cannot realize her misery. 

The two Lieutenants slipped on their blouses, and 
sat looking helplessly at us, waging war on the cats 
at intervals. And so the dawn found us, our nerves 
at a tension, and our strength gone — a poor prepara- 
tion for the trying day which was to follow. 

We were able to buy a couple of sheep there, to take 
with us for supplies, and some antelope meat. We 
could not indulge in foolish scruples, but I tried not 
to look when they tied the live sheep and threw them 
into one of the wagons. 

Quite early in the day, we met a man who said he 
had been fired upon by some Indians at Sanford's 
Pass. We thought perhaps he had been scared by 
some stray shot, and we did not pay much attention 
to his story. 

Soon after, however, we passed a sort of old adobe 
ruin, out of which crept two bare-headed Mexicans, 

121 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

so badly frightened that their dark faces were palHd; 
their hair seemed standing on end, and they looked 
stark mad with fear. They talked wildly to the guide, 
and gesticulated, pointing in the direction of the 
Pass. They had been fired at, and their ponies taken 
by some roving Apaches. They had been in hiding 
for over a day, and were hungry and miserable. We 
gave them food and drink. They implored us, by the 
Holy Virgin, not to go through the Pass. 

What was to be done? The officers took counsel; 
the men looked to their arms. It was decided to go 
through. Jack examined his revolver, and saw that 
my pistol was loaded. I was instructed minutely 
what to do, in case we were attacked. 

For miles we strained our eyes, looking in the direc- 
tion whence these men had come. 

At last, in mid-afternoon, we approached the Pass, 
a narrow defile winding down between high hills from 
this table-land to the plain below. To say that we 
feared an ambush, would not perhaps convey a very 
clear idea of how / felt on entering the Pass. 

There was not a word spoken. I obeyed orders, 
and lay down in the bottom of the ambulance ; I took 
my derringer out of the holster and cocked it. I 
looked at my little boy lying helpless there beside me, 
and at his delicate temples, lined with thin blue 
veins, and wondered if I could follow out the instruc- 
tions I had received: for Jack had said, after the 
decision was made, to go through the Pass, ''Now, 

122 



A MEMORABLE JOURNEY 

Mattie, I don't think for a minute that there are any 
Injuns in that Pass, and you must not be afraid. 
We have got to go through it any way; but" — he hesi- 
tated,— "we may be mistaken; there may be a few 
of them in there, and they'll have a mighty good 
chance to get in a shot or two. And now listen : if I'm 
hit, you'll know what to do. You have your der- 
ringer ; and when you see that there is no help for it, 
if they get away with the whole outfit, why, there's 
only one thing to be done. Don't let them get the 
baby, for they will carry you both off and — well, you 
know the squaws are much more cruel than the bucks. 
Don't let them get either of you alive. Now" — to 
the driver — "go on." 

Jack was a man of few words, and seldom spoke 
much in times like that. 

So I lay very quiet in the bottom of the ambulance. 
I realized that we were in great danger. My thoughts 
flew back to the East, and I saw, as in a flash, my 
father and mother, sisters and brother ; I think I tried 
to say a short prayer for them, and that they might 
never know the worst. I fixed my eyes upon my 
husband's face. There he sat, rifle in hand, his 
features motionless, his eyes keenly watching out from 
one side of the ambulance, while a stalwart cavalry- 
man, carbine in hand, watched the other side of the 
narrow defile. The minutes seemed like hours. 

The driver kept his animals steady, and we rattled 
along. 

123 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

At last, as I perceived the steep slope of the road, I 
looked out, and saw that the Pass was widening out, 
and we must be nearing the end of it. ''Keep still," 
said Jack, without moving a feature. My heart 
seemed then to stop beating, and I dared not move 
again, until I heard him say, "Thank God, we're out 
of it! Get up, Mattie! See the river yonder? We'll 
cross that to-night, and then we'll be out of their God 
d d country!" 

This was Jack's way of working off his excitement, 
and I did not mind it. I knew he was not afraid of 
Apaches for himself, but for his wife and child. And 
if I had been a man, I should have said just as much 
and perhaps more. 

We were now down in a flat country, and low alkali 
plains lay between us and the river. My nerves 
gradually recovered from the tension in which they 
had been held; the driver stopped his team for a 
moment, the other ambulance drove up alongside of 
us, and Ella Bailey and I looked at each other; we 
did not talk any, but I believe we cried just a little. 
Then Mr. Bailey and Jack (thinking we were giving 
way, I suppose) pulled out their big flasks, and we 
had to take a cup of good whiskey, weakened up with 
a little water from our canteens, which had been filled 
at Walker's ranch in the morning. Great Heavens ! 
I thought, was it this morning that we left Walker's 
ranch, or was it a year ago? So much had I lived 
through in a few hours. 

(124) 



CHAPTER XV 

FORDING THI5 LITTLK COLORADO 

At a bend in the road the Mexican guide galloped 
up near the ambulance, and pointing off to the west- 
ward with a graceful gesture, said: "Colorado 
Chiquito! Colorado Chiquito!" And, sure enough, 
there in the afternoon sun lay the narrow winding 
river, its surface as smooth as glass, and its banks as if 
covered with snow. 

We drove straight for the ford, known as Sunset 
Crossing. The guide was sure he knew the place. 
But the river was high, and I could not see how 
anybody could cross it without a boat. The Mexican 
rode his pony in once or twice; shook his head, and 
said in Spanish, ''there was much quicksand. The 
old ford had changed much since he saw it." He 
galloped excitedly to and fro, along the bank of the 
river, always returning to the same place, and declar- 
ing "it was the ford; there was no other; he knew 
it well." 

But the wagons not having yet arrived, it was de- 
cided not to attempt crossing until morning, when 
we could get a fresh start. 

The sun was gradually sinking in the west, but the 
heat down in that alkali river-bottom even at that 
early season of the year was most uncomfortable. I 

125 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

was worn out with fright and fatigue; my poor child 
cried piteously and incessantly. Nothing was of any 
avail to soothe him. After the tents were pitched and 
the camp-fires made, some warm water was brought, 
and I tried to wash away some of the dust from him, 
but the alkali water only irritated his delicate skin, 
and his head, where it had lain on my arm, was in- 
flamed by the constant rubbing. It began to break 
out in ugly blisters ; I was in despair. We were about 
as wretchedly off as two human beings could be, and 
live, it seemed to me. The disappointment at not get- 
ting across the river, combined with the fear that the 
Indians were still in the neighborhood, added to my 
nervousness and produced an exhaustion which, under 
other circumstances, would have meant collapse. 

The mournful and demoniacal cries of the coyotes 
filled the night ; they seemed to come close to the tent, 
and their number seemed to be legion. I lay with 
eyes wide open, watching for the day to come, and 
resolving each minute that if I ever escaped alive 
from that lonely river-bottom with its burning alkali, 
and its millions of howling coyotes, I would never, 
never risk being placed in such a situation again. 

At dawn everybody got up and dressed. I looked 
in my small hand-mirror, and it seemed to me my hair 
had turned a greyish color, and while it was not 
exactly white, the warm chestnut tinge never came 
back into it, after that day and night of terror. My 
eyes looked back at me large and hollow from the 

126 



FORDING THE LITTLE COLORADO 

small glass, and I was in that state when it is easy to 
imagine the look of Death in one's own face. I think 
sometimes it comes, after we have thought ourselves 
near the borders. And I surely had been close to 
them the day before. 



If perchance any of my readers have followed this 
narrative so far, and there be among them possibly 
any men, young or old, I would say to such ones : 
"Desist! For what I am going to tell about in this 
chapter, and possibly another, concerns nobody but 
women, and my story will now, for awhile, not con- 
cern itself with the Eighth Foot, nor the army, nor 
the War Department, nor the Interior Department, 
nor the strategic value of Sunset Crossing, which may 
now be a railroad station, for all I know. It is simply 
a story of my journey from the far bank of the Little 
Colorado to Fort Whipple, and then on, by a change 
of orders, over mountains and valleys, cactus plains 
and desert lands, to the banks of the Great Colorado. 

My attitude towards the places I travelled through 
was naturally influenced by the fact that I had a 
young baby in my arms the entire way, and that I 
was not able to endure hardship at that time. For 
usually, be it remembered, at that period of a child's 
life, both mother and infant are not out of the hands 
of the doctor and trained nurse, to say nothing of the 
assistance so gladly rendered by those near and dear, 

127 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

The morning of the 28th of April dawned shortly 
after midnight, as mornings in Arizona generally 
do at that season, and after a hasty camp breakfast, 
and a good deal of reconnoitring on the part of the 
ofificers, who did not seem to be exactly satisfied about 
the Mexican's knowledge of the ford, they told him to 
push his pony in, and cross if he could. 

He managed to pick his way across and back, after 
a good deal of floundering, and we decided to try the 
ford. First they hitched up ten mules to one of the 
heavily loaded baggage-wagons, the teamster cracked 
his whip, and in they went. But the quicksand 
frightened the leaders, and they lost their courage. 
Now when a mule loses courage, in the water, he puts 
his head down and is done for. The leaders disap- 
peared entirely, then the next two and finally the 
whole ten of them were gone, irrevocably, as I thought. 
But like a flash, the officers shouted: *'Cut away 
those mules ! Jump in there !" and amid other ex- 
pletives the men plunged in, and feeling around under 
the water cut the poor animals loose and they began 
to crawl out on the other bank. I drew a long breath, 
for I thought the ten mules were drowned. 

The guide picked his way over again to the other 
side and caught them up, and then I began to 
wonder how on earth we should ever get across. 

There lay the heavy army wagon, deep mired in 
the middle of the stream, and what did I see? Our 
army chests, floating away down the river. I cried 

128 



FORDING THE LITTLE COLORADO 

out: ''Oh! do save our chests!" ''They're all right, 
we'll get them presently," said Jack. It seemed a long 
time to me, before the soldiers could get them to the 
bank, which they did, with the aid of stout ropes. All 
our worldly goods were in those chests, and I knew 
they were soaked wet and probably ruined; but, after 
all, what did it matter, in the face of the serious 
problem which confronted us? 

In the meantime, some of the men had floated the 
other boxes and trunks out of the wagon back to the 
shore, and were busy taking the huge vehicle apart. 
Any one who knows the size of an army wagon will 
realize that this was hard work, especially as the 
wagon was mired, and nearly submerged. But the 
men worked desperately, and at last succeeded in 
getting every part of it back onto the dry land. 

Somebody stirred up the camp-fire and put the 
kettle on, and Mrs. Bailey and I mixed up a smoking 
strong hot toddy for those brave fellows, who were by 
this time well exhausted. Then they set to work to 
make a boat, by drawing a large canvas under the 
body of the wagon, and fastening it securely. For 
this Lieutenant of mine had been a sailor-man and 
knew well how to meet emergencies. 

One or two of the soldiers had now forded the 
stream on horseback, and taken over a heavy rope, 
which was made fast to our improvised boat. I was 
acquainted with all kinds of boats, from a catamaran 
to a full-rigged ship, but never a craft like this had 

129 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

I seen. Over the sides we clambered, however, and 
were ferried across the treacherous and glassy vaters 
of the Little Colorado. All the baggage and the two 
ambulances were ferried over, and the other wagon 
was unloaded and drawn over by means of ropes. 

This proceeding took all day, and of course we could 
get no farther, and were again obliged to camp in that 
most uncomfortable river-bottom. But we felt safer 
on that side. I looked at the smooth surface of the 
river, and its alkali shores, and the picture became 
indelibly impressed upon my memory. The unpleas- 
ant reality destroyed any poetic associations which 
might otherwise have clung to the name of Sunset 
Crossing in my ever vivid imagination. 

After the tents were pitched, and the camp snugged 
up, Mr. Bailey produced some champagne and we 
wished each other joy, that we had made the dan- 
gerous crossing and escaped the perils of Sanford's 
Pass. I am afraid the champagne was not as cold 
as might have been desired, but the bottle had been 
wrapped in a wet blanket, and cooled a little in that 
way, and we drank it with zest, from a mess-cup. 

(130) 



CHAPTER XVI 

STONKMAn'S I.AKE: 

The: road began now to ascend, and after twenty 
miles' travelling we reached a place called Updyke's 
Tanks. It was a nice place, with plenty of wood and 
grass. The next day we camped at Jay Coxe's Tanks. 
It was a hard day's march, and I was tired out when 
we arrived there. The ambulance was simply jerked 
over those miles of fearful rocks; one could not say 
driven or dragged over, for we were pitched from rock 
to rock the entirt distance. 

Stoneman's Lake Road was famous, as I after- 
wards heard. Perhaps it was just as well for me that 
I did not know about it in advance. 

The sure-footed mules picked their way over these 
sharp-edged rocks. There was not a moment's res- 
pite. We asked a soldier to help with holding the 
baby, for my arms gave out entirely, and were as if 
paralyzed. The jolting threw us all by turns against 
the sides of the ambulance (which was not padded), 
and we all got some rather bad bruises. We finally 
bethought ourselves of the pappoose basket, which 
we had brought along in the ambulance, having at the 
last moment no other place to put it. So a halt was 
called, we placed the tired baby in this semi-cradle, 
laced the sides snugly over him, and were thus enabled 

1.31 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

to carry him over those dreadful roads without 
danger. 

He did not cry much, but the dust made him 
thirsty. I could not give him nourishment without 
stopping the entire train of wagons, on account of 
the constant pitching of the ambulance; delay was 
not advisable or expedient, so my poor little son had 
to endure with the rest of us. The big Alsatian 
cavalryman held the cradle easily in his strong arms, 
and so the long miles were travelled, one by one. 

At noon of this day we made a refreshing halt, built 
a fire and took some luncheon. We found a shady, 
grassy spot, upon which the blankets were spread, 
and we stretched ourselves out upon them and rested. 
But we were still some miles from water, so after a 
short respite we were compelled to push on. We had 
been getting steadily higher since leaving ^nset 
Cro^ng, and now it began to be cold and looked like 
snow. Mrs. Bailey and I found it very trying to meet 
these changes of temperature. A good place for the 
camp was found at Coxe's Tanks, trenches were dug 
around the tents, and the earth banked up to keep us 
warm. The cool air, our great fatigue, and the 
comparative absence of danger combined to give us a 
heavenly night's rest. 

Towards sunset of the next day, which was May 
Day, our cavalcade reached Stoneman's Lake. We 
had had another rough march, and had reached the 
limit of endurance, or thought we had, when we 

132 



STONEMAN'S LAKE 

emerged from a mountain pass and drew rein upon the 
high green mesa overlooking Stoneman's Lake, a beau- 
tiful blue sheet of water lying there away below us. 
It was good to our tired eyes, which had gazed upon 
nothing but burnt rocks and alkali plains for so many 
days. Our camp was beautiful beyond description, 
and lay near the edge of the mesa, whence we could 
look down upon the lovely lake. It was a complete 
surprise to us, as points of scenery were not much 
known or talked about then in Arizona. Ponds and 
lakes were unheard of. They did not seem to exist in 
that drear land of arid wastes. We never heard of 
water except that of the Colorado or the Gila or the 
tanks and basins, and irrigation ditches of the settlers. 
But here was a real Italian lake, a lake as blue as the 
skies above us. We feasted our eyes and our very 
souls upon it. 

Bailey and the guide shot some wild turkeys, and 
as we had already eaten all the mutton we had along, 
the ragout of turkey made by the soldier-cook for our 
supper tasted better to us tired and hungry travellers, 
perhaps, than a canvasback at Delmonico's tastes to 
the weary lounger or the over-worked financier. 

In the course of the day, we had passed a sort of 
sign-board, with the rudely written inscription, 
"Camp Starvation," and we had heard from Mr. 
Bailey the story of the tragic misfortunes at this very 
place of the well-known Hitchcock family of Arizona. 
'1 ne road was lined with dry bones, and skulls of oxen, 

133 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

white and bleached in the sun, lying on the bare rocks. 

Indeed, at every stage of the road we had seen evi- 
dences of hard travel, exhausted cattle, anxious team- 
sters, hunger and thirst, despair, starvation, and death. 

However, Stoneman's Lake remains a joy in the 
memory, and far and away the most beautiful spot 
I ever saw in Arizona. But unless the approaches to 
it are made easier, tourists will never gaze upon it. 

In the distance we saw the ''divide," over which 
we must pass in order to reach Camp Verde, which 
was to be our first stopping place, and we looked 
joyfully towards the next day's march, which we 
expected would bring us there. 

We thought the worst was over and, before re- 
tiring to our tents for the night, we walked over to 
the edge of the high mesa and, in the gathering 
shadows of twilight, looked down into the depths of 
that beautiful lake, knowing that probably we should 
never see it again. 

And indeed, in all the years I spent in Arizona 
afterward, I never even heard of the lake again. 

I wonder now, did it really exist or was it an 
illusion, a dream, or the mirage which appears to the 
desert traveller, to satisfy him and lure him on, to 
quiet his imagination, and to save his senses from 
utter extinction ? 

In the morning the camp was all astir for an early 
move. We had no time to look back : we were starting 

134 



STONEMAN'S LAKE 

for a long day's march, across the "divide," and into 
Camp Verde. 

But we soon found that the road (if road it could 
be called) was worse than any we had encountered. 
The ambulance was pitched and jerked from rock to 
rock and we were thumped against the iron frame 
work in a most dangerous manner. So we got out and 
picked our way over the great sharp boulders. 

The Alsatian soldier carried the baby, who lay se- 
curely in the pappoose cradle. 

One of the cavalry escort suggested my taking his 
horse, but I did not feel strong enough to think 
of mounting a horse, so great was my discouragement 
and so exhausted was my vitality. Oh! if girls only 
knew about these things I thought! For just a little 
knowledge of the care of an infant and its needs, its 
nourishment and its habits, might have saved both 
mother and child from such utter collapse. 

Little by little we gave up hope of reaching Verde 
that day. At four o'clock we crossed the "divide," 
and clattered down a road so near the edge of a 
precipice that I was frightened beyond everything: 
my senses nearly left me. Down and around, this 
way and that, near the edge, then back again, swaying, 
swerving, pitching, the gravel clattering over the 
precipice, the six mules trotting their fastest, we 
reached the bottom and the driver pulled up his team. 
"Beaver Springs !" said he, impressively, loosening 
up the brakes. 

135 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

As Jack lifted me out of the ambulance, I said: 
"Why didn't you tell me?" pointing back to the steep 
road. "Oh," said he, "I thought it was better for 
you not to know ; people get scared about such things, 
when they know about them before hand." 

"But," I remarked, "such a break-neck pace!" 
Then, to the driver, "Smith, how could you drive 
down that place at such a rate and frighten me so?" 

"Had to, ma'am, or we'd a'gone over the edge." 

I had been brought up in a flat country down near 
the sea, and I did not know the dangers of mountain 
travelling, nor the difficulties attending the piloting 
of a six-mule team down a road like that. From this 
time on, however, Smith rose in my estimation. I 
seemed also to be realizing that the Southwest was a 
great country and that there was much to learn about. 
Life out there was beginning to interest me. 

Camp Verde lay sixteen miles farther on; no one 
knew if the road were good or bad. I declared I 
could not travel another mile, even if they all went 
on and left me to the wolves and the darkness of 
Beaver Springs. 

We looked to our provisions and took account of 
stock. There was not enough for the two families. 
We had no flour and no bread ; there was only a small 
piece of bacon, six potatoes, some condensed milk, and 
some chocolate. The Baileys decided to go on; for 
Mrs. Bailey was to meet her sister at Verde and her 
parents at Whipple. We said good-bye, and their 

136 



STONEMAN'S LAKE 

ambulance rolled away. Our tent was pitched and 
the baby was laid on the bed, asleep from pure 
exhaustion. 

The dread darkness of night descended upon us, and 
the strange odors of the bottom-lands arose, mingling 
with the delicious smoky smell of the camp-fire. 

By the light of the blazing mesquite wood, we now 
divided what provisions we had, into two portions : 
one for supper, and one for breakfast. A very light 
meal we had that evening, and I arose from the mess- 
table unsatisfied and hungry. 

Jack and I sat down by the camp-fire, musing over 
the hard times we were having, when suddenly I 
heard a terrified cry from my little son. We rushed 
to the tent, lighted a candle, and oh ! horror upon 
horrors ! his head and face were covered with large 
black ants ; he was wailing helplessly, and beating the 
air with his tiny arms. 

"My God!" cried Jack, "we're camped over an 
ant-hill !" 

I seized the child, and brushing off the ants as I 
fled, brought him out to the fire, where by its light I 
succeeded in getting rid of them all. But the horror 
of it! Can any mother brought up in God's country 
with kind nurses and loved ones to minister to her 
child, for a moment imagine how I felt when I saw 
those hideous, three-bodied, long-legged black ants 
crawHng over my baby's face? After a lapse of 
years, I cannot recall that moment without a shudder. 

137 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

The soldiers at last found a place which seemed to 
be free from ant-hills, and our tent was again pitched, 
but only to find that the venomous things swarmed 
over us as soon as we lay down to rest. 

And so, after the fashion of the Missouri emigrant, 
we climbed into the ambulance and lay down upon 
our blankets in the bottom of it, and tried to believe 
we were comfortable. 

My long, hard journey of the preceding autumn, 
covering a period of two months; my trying experi- 
ences during the winter at Camp Apache; the sudden 
break-up and the packing; the lack of assistance from 
a nurse; the terrors of the journey; the sympathy for 
my child, who suffered from many ailments and prin- 
cipally from lack of nourishment, added to the pro- 
found fatigue I felt, had reduced my strength to a 
minimum. I wonder that I lived, but something sus- 
tained me, and when we reached Camp Verde the 
next day, and drew up before Lieutenant O'Connell's 
quarters, and saw Mrs. O'Connell's kind face beam- 
ing to welcome us, I felt that here was relief at last. 

The tall Alsatian handed the pappoose cradle to 
Mrs. O'Connell. 

"Gracious goodness! what is this?" cried the be- 
wildered woman; "surely it cannot be your baby! 
You haven't turned entirely Indian, have you, 
amongst those wild Apaches?" 

I felt sorry I had not taken him out of the basket 
before we arrived. I did not realize the impression it 

138 



STONEMAN'S LAKE 

would make at Camp Verde. After all, they did not 
know anything about our life at Apache, or our rough 
travels to get back from there. Here were lace- 
curtained windows, well-dressed women, smart uni- 
forms, and, in fact, civilization, compared with what 
we had left. 

The women of the post gathered around the broad 
piazza, to see the wonder. But when they saw the 
poor httle wan face, the blue eyes which looked sadly 
out at them from this rude cradle, the linen bandages 
covering the back of the head, they did not laugh 
any more, but took him and ministered to him, as only 
kind women can minister to a sick baby. 

There was not much rest, however, for we had to 
sort and rearrange our things, and dress ourselves 
properly. (Oh! the luxury of a room and a tub, 
after that journey!) Jack put on his best uniform, 
and there was no end of visiting, in spite of the heat, 
which was considerable even at that early date in 
May. The day there would have been pleasant 
enough but for my wretched condition. 

The next morning we set out for Fort Whipple, 
making a long day's march, and arriving late in the 
evening. The wife of the Quartermaster, a total 
stranger to me, received us, and before we had time 
to exchange the usual social platitudes, she gave one 
look at the baby, and put an end to any such attempts. 
"You have a sick child; give him to me;" then I told 
her some things, and she said: "I wonder he is alive.'' 

139 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Then she took hmi under her charge and declared we 
should not leave her house until he was well again. 
She understood all about nursing, and day by day, 
under her good care, and Doctor Henry Lippincott's 
skilful treatment, I saw my baby brought back to life 
again. Can I ever forget Mrs. Aldrich's blessed 
kindness? 

Up to then, I had taken no interest in Camp 
MacDowell, where was stationed the company into 
which my husband was promoted. I knew it was 
somewhere in the southern part of the Territory, and 
isolated. The present was enough. I was meeting 
my old Fort Russell friends, and under Doctor 
Lippincott's good care I was getting back a measure 
of strength. Camp MacDowell was not yet a reality 
to me. 

We met again Colonel Wilkins and Mrs. Wilkins 
and Carrie, and Mrs. Wilkins thanked me for bringing 
her daughter alive out of those wilds. Poor girl; 
'twas but a few months when we heard of her death, 
at the birth of her second child. I have always 
thought her death was caused by the long hard 
journey from Apache to Whipple, for Nature never 
intended women to go through what we went through, 
on that memorable journey by Stoneman's Lake. 

There I met again Captain Porter, and I asked him 
if he had progressed any in his courtship, and he, 
being very much embarrassed, said he did not know, 

140 



STONEMAN'S LAKE 

but if patient waiting was of any avail, he believed 
he might win his bride. 

After we had been at Whipple a few days, Jack 
came in and remarked casually to Lieutenant Aldrich, 
''Well, I heard Bernard has asked to be relieved from 
Ehrenberg." 

"What!" I said, ''the lonely man down there on 
the river — the prisoner of Chillon — the silent one? 
Well, they are going to relieve him, of course?" 

"Why, yes," said Jack, falteringly, "if they can 
get anyone to take his place." 

"Can't they order some one?" I inquired. 
"Of course they can," he replied, and then, turning 
towards the window, he ventured : "The fact is 
Martha, I've been offered it, and am thinking it over." 
(The real truth was, that he had applied for it, 
thinking it possessed great advantages over Camp 
MacDowell.) 

"What! do I hear aright? Have your senses left 
you? Are you crazy? Are you going to take me to 
that awful place? Why, Jack, I should die there!" 
"Now, Martha, be reasonable; listen to me, and if 
you really decide against it, I'll throw up the detail. 
But don't you see, we shall be right on the river, the 
boat comes up every fortnight or so, you can jump 
aboard and go up to San Francisco." (Oh, how 
alluring that sounded to my ears!) "Why, it's no 
trouble to get out of Arizona from Ehrenberg. Then, 
too, I shall be independent, and can do just as I 

141 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

like, and when I like," et ccetera, et ccetera. "Oh, 
you'll be making the greatest mistake, if you decide 
against it. As for MacDowell, it's a hell of a place, 
down there in the South; and you never will be able 
to go back East with the baby, if we once get settled 
down there. Why, it's a good fifteen days from the 
river." 

And so he piled up the arguments in favor of 
Ehrenberg, saying finally, "You need not stop a day 
there. If the boat happens to be up, you can jump 
right aboard and start at once down river." 

All the discomforts of the voyage on the "New- 
bern," and the memory of those long days spent on 
the river steamer in August had paled before my 
recent experiences. I flew, in imagination, to the 
deck of the "Gila," and to good Captain Mellon, who 
would take me and my child out of that wretched 
Territory. 

"Yes, yes, let us go then," I cried; for here came 
in my inexperience. I thought I was choosing the 
lesser evil, and I knew that Jack believed it to be so, 
and also that he had set his heart upon Ehrenberg, 
for reasons known only to the understanding of a 
military man. 

So it was decided to take the Ehrenberg detail. 

(142) 



CHAPTER XVII 

THE COI.ORADO DESERT 

Some serpents slid from out the grass 
That grew in tufts by shattered stone, 
Then hid below some broken mass 
Of ruins older than the East, 
That Time had eaten, as a bone 
Is eaten by some savage beast. 

Great dull-eyed rattlesnakes — they lay 
All loathsome, yellow-skinned, and slei:)t 
Coiled tight as pine knots in the sun. 
With flat heads through the centre run; 
Then struck out sharp, then rattling crept 
Flat-bellied down the dusty way. 

—JOAQUIN MILLER. 

At the end of a week, we started forth for Ehren- 
berg. Our escort was now sent back to Camp Apache, 
and the Baileys remained at Fort Whipple, so our 
outfit consisted of one ambulance and one army wagon. 
One or two soldiers went along, to help with the teams 
and the camp. 

We travelled two days over a semi-civilized coun- 
try, and found quite comfortable ranches where we 
spent the nights. The greatest luxury was fresh 
milk, and we enjoyed that at these ranches in Skull 
Valley. They kept American cows, and supplied 
Whipple Barracks with milk and butter. We drank, 

143 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

and drank, and drank again, and carried a jugful to 
our bedside. The third day brought us/to Cullen's 
ranch, at the edge of the desert. Mrs. Cullen was 
a Mexican woman and had a Httle boy named Daniel ; 
she cooked us a delicious supper of stewed chicken, 
and fried eggs, and good bread, and then she put our 
boy to bed in Daniel's crib. I felt so grateful to her; 
and with a return of physical comfort, I began to 
think that life, after all, might be worth the living. 

Hopefully and cheerfully the next morning we 
entered the vast Colorado desert. This was verily the 
desert, more like the desert which our imagination 
pictures, than the one we had crossed in September 
from Mojave. It seemed so white, so bare, so endless, 
and so still; irreclaimable, eternal, like Death itself. 
The stillness was appalling. We saw great numbers 
of lizards darting about like lightning; they were 
nearly as white as the sand itself, and sat up on their 
hind legs and looked at us with their pretty, beady 
black eyes. It seemed very far ofif from everywhere 
and everybody, this desert — but I knew there was a 
camp somewhere awaiting us, and our mules trotted 
patiently on. Towards noon they began to raise their 
heads and sniff the air; they knew that water was 
near. They quickened their pace, and we soon drew 
up before a large wooden structure. There were no 
trees nor grass around it. A Mexican worked the 
machinery with the aid of a mule, and water was 
bought for our twelve animals, at so much per head. 

144 



THE COLORADO DESERT 

The place was called Mesquite Wells; the man dwelt 
alone in his desolation, with no living being except 
his mule for company. How could he endure it! I 
was not able, even faintly, to comprehend it ; I had 
not lived long enough. He occupied a small hut, and 
there he staid, year in and year out, selling water to 
the passing traveller ; and I /ancy that travellers were 
not so frequent at Mesquite Wells a quarter of a 
century ago. 

The thought of that hermit and his dreary sur- 
roundings filled my mind for a long time after we 
drove away, and it was only when we halted and a 
soldier got down to kill a great rattlesnake near the 
ambulance, that my thoughts were diverted. The 
man brought the rattles to us and the new toy served 
to amuse my little son. / 

At night we arrived at Desert Station. There was 
a good ranch there, kept by Hunt and Dudley, 
Englishmen, I believe. I did not see them, but I 
w^ondered who they were and why they staid in such 
a place. They were absent at the time ; perhaps they 
had mines or something of the sort to look after. One 
is always imagining things about people who live in 
such extraordinary places. At all events, whatever 
Messrs. Hunt and Dudley were doing down there, 
their ranch was clean and attractive?', which was more 
than could be said of the place^wKere we stopped the 
next night, a place called TysonY Wells. We slept in 
our tent that night, for of all places on the earth a 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

poorly kept ranch in Arizona is the most melancholy 
and uninviting. It reeks of everything unclean, mor- 
ally and physically. Owen Wister has described such 
a place in his delightful story, where the young tender- 
foot dances for the amusement of the old habitues. 

One more day's travel across the desert brought us 
to our El Dorado. 

(146) 



CHAPTER XVIII 

EHRENBKRG ON the: COLORADO 

Undkr the: burning mid-day sun of Arizona, on 
May 1 6th, our six good mules, with the long whip 
cracking about their ears, and the ambulance rattling 
merrily along, brought us into the village of Ehren- 
berg. There was one street, so called, which ran 
along on the river bank, and then a few cross streets 
straggling back into the desert, with here and there 
a low adobe casa. The Government house stood not 
far from the river, and as we drove up to the entrance 
the same blank white walls stared at me. It did not 
look so much like a prison, after all, I thought. 
Captain Bernard, the man whom I had pitied, stood at 
the doorway, to greet us, and after we were inside the 
house he had some biscuits and wine brought; and 
then the change of stations was talked of, and he said 
to me, ''Now, please make yourself at home. The 
house is yours ; my things are virtually packed up, 
and I leave in a day or two. There is a soldier here 
who can stay w^ith you ; he has been able to attend to 
my simple wants. I eat only twice a day; and here 
is Charley, my Indian, who fetches the water from 
the river and does the chores. I dine generally at 
sundown." 

A shadow fell across the sunlight in the doorway; 
147 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

I looked around and there stood ''Charley," who had 
come in with the noiseless step of the moccasined 
foot. I saw before me a handsome naked Cocopah 
Indian, who wore a belt and a gee-string. He seemed 
to feel at home and began to help with the bags and 
various paraphernalia of ambulance travellers. He 
looked to be about twenty-four years old. His face 
was smiling and friendly and I knew I should like 
him. 

The house was a one-story adobe. It formed two 
sides of a hollow square; the other two sides were a 
high wall, and the Government freight-house re- 
spectively. The courtyard was partly shaded by a 
ramdda and partly open to the hot sun. There was 
a chicken-yard in one corner of the inclosed square, 
and in the centre stood a rickety old pump, which 
indicated some sort of a well. Not a green leaf or 
tree or blade of grass in sight. Nothing but white 
sand, as far as one could see, in all directions. 

Inside the house there were bare white walls, ceil- 
ings covered with manta, and sagging, as they always 
do; small windows set in deep embrasures, and adobe 
floors. Small and inconvenient rooms, opening one 
into another around two sides of the square. A sort 
of low veranda protected by lattice screens, made from 
a species of slim cactus, called ocotilla, woven together, 
and bound with raw-hide, ran around a part of the 
house. 

Our dinner was enlivened by some good Cocomonga 
148 



EHRENBERG ON THE COLORADO 

wine. I tried to ascertain something about the source 
of provisions, but evidently the soldier had done the 
foraging, and Captain Bernard admitted that it was 
difficult, adding always that he did not require much, 
''it was so warm," et ccctcra, ct ccctera. The next 
morning I took the reins, nominally, but told the sol- 
dier to go ahead and do just as he had always done. 
I selected a small room for the baby's bath, the all 
important function of the day. The Indian brought 
me a large tub (the same sort of a half of a vinegar 
barrel we had used at Apache for ourselves), set it 
down in the middle of the floor, and brought water 
from a barrel which stood in the corral. A low box 
was placed for me to sit on. This was a bachelor 
establishment, and there was no place but the floor to 
lay things on; but what with the splashing and the 
leaking and the dripping, the floor turned to mud 
and the white clothes and towels were covered 
with it, and I myself was a sight to behold. The 
Indian stood smiling at my plight. He spoke only 
a pigeon English, but said, ''too much-ee wet." 

I was in despair; things began to look hopeless 
again to me. I thought "surely these Mexicans must 
know how to manage with these floors." Fisher, the 
steamboat agent, came in, and I asked him if he could 
not find me a nurse. He said he would try, and went 
out to see what could be done. 

He finally brought in a rather forlorn looking 
Mexican woman leading a little child (whose father 

149 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

was not known), and she said she would come to us 
for qiiinze pesos a month. I consulted with Fisher, 
and he said she was a pretty good sort, and that we 
could not afford to be too particular down in that 
country. And so she came; and although she was 
indolent, and forever smoking cigarettes, she did care 
for the baby, and fanned him when he slept, and 
proved a blessing to me. 

And now came the unpacking of our boxes, which 
had floated down the Colorado Chiquito. The fine 
damask, brought from Germany for my linen chest, 
was a mass of mildew ; and when the books came to 
light, I could have wept to see the pretty editions of 
Schiller, Goethe, and Lessing, which I had bought 
in Hanover, fall out of their bindings; the latter, 
warped out of all shape, and some of them unrecog- 
nizable. I did the best I could, however, not to show 
too much concern, and gathered the pages carefully 
together, to dry them in the sun. 

They were my pride, my best beloved possessions, 
the links that bound me to the happy days in old 
Hanover. 

I went to Fisher for everything — a large, well-built 
American, and a kind good man. Mrs. Fisher could 
not endure the life at Ehrenberg, so she lived in San 
Francisco, he told me. There were several other white 
men in the place, and two large stores where every- 
thing was kept that people in such countries buy. 
These merchants made enormous profits, and their 

150 




■§ 

<x> 
u 



O 



EHRENBERG ON THE COLORADO 

families lived in luxury in San Francisco. 

The rest of the population consisted of a very 
poor class of Mexicans, Cocopah, Yuma and Mojave 
Indians, and half-breeds. 

The duties of the army officer stationed here con- 
sisted principally in receiving and shipping the enor- 
mous quantity of Government freight which was 
landed by the river steamers. It was shipped by 
wagon trains across the Territory, and at all times 
the work carried large responsibilities with it. 

I soon realized that however much the present 
incumbent might like the situation, it was no fit place 
for a woman. 

The station at Ehrenberg was what we call, in the 
army, ''detached service." I realized that we had 
left the army for the time being; that we had cut 
loose from a garrison ; that we were in a place where 
good food could not be procured, and where there were 
practically no servants to be had. That there was 
not a woman to speak to, or to go to for advice or 
help, and, worst of all, that there was no doctor in the 
place. Besides all this, my clothes were all ruined 
by lying wet for a fortnight in the boxes, and I had 
practically nothing to wear. I did not then know 
what useless things clothes were in Ehrenberg. 

The situation appeared rather serious; the weather 
had grown intensely hot, and it was decided that the 
only thing for me to do was to go to San Francisco 
for the summer. 

151 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

So one day we heard the whistle of the ''Gila" 
going up; and when she came down river, I was all 
ready to go on board, with Patrocina and Jesusita,* 
and my own child, who was yet but five months old. 
I bade farewell to the man on detached service, and we 
headed down river. We seemed to go down very 
rapidly, although the trip lasted several days. Patro- 
cina took to her bed with neuralgia (or nostalgia) ; 
her little devil of a child screamed the entire days and 
nights through, to the utter discomfiture of the few 
other passengers. A young lieutenant and his wife 
and an army surgeon, who had come from one of the 
posts in the interior, were among the number, and 
they seemed to think that / could help it (though they 
did not say so). 

Finally the doctor said that if / did not throw 
Jesusita overboard, he would; why didn't I "wring 
the neck of its worthless Mexican of a mother?" and 
so on, until I really grew very nervous and unhappy, 
thinking what I should do after we got on board the 
ocean steamer. I, a victim of seasickness, with this 
unlucky woman and her child on my hands, in addi- 
tion to my own ! No ; I made up my mind to go back 
to Ehrenberg, but I said nothing. 

I did not dare to let Doctor Clark know of my 
decision, for I knew he would try to dissuade me; 



*Diminutive of Jesus, a very common name amongst the 
Mexicans. Pronounced Hay-soo-s6-ta. 



I!;2 



EHRENBERG ON THE COLORADO 

but when we reached the mouth of the river, and 
they began to transfer the passengers to the ocean 
steamer which lay in the offing, I quietly sat down 
upon my trunk and told them I was going back to 
Ehrenberg. Captain Mellon grinned ; the others were 
speechless ; they tried persuasion, but saw it was use- 
less ; and then they said good-bye to me, and our stern- 
wheeler headed about and started for up river. 

Ehrenberg had become truly my old man of the 
sea; I could not get rid of it. There I must go, and 
there I must stay, until circumstances and the Fates 
were more propitious for my departure. 

(153) 



CHAPTER XIX 

summe:r at i:hri:nberg 

The week we spent going up the Colorado in 
June was not as uncomfortable as the time spent on 
the river in August of the previous year. Every- 
thing is relative, I discovered, and I was happy in 
going back to stay with the First Lieutenant of C 
Company, and share his fortunes awhile longer. 

Patrocina recovered, as soon as she found we were 
to return to Ehrenberg. I wondered how anybody 
could be so homesick for such a God-forsaken place. 
I asked her if she had ever seen a tree, or green 
grass (for I could talk with her quite easily now). 
She shook her mournful head. "But don't you want 
to see trees and grass and flowers?" 

Another sad shake of the head was the only reply. 

Such people, such natures, and such lives, were 
incomprehensible to me then. I could not look at 
things except from my own standpoint. 

She took her child upon her knee, and lighted a 
cigarette; I took mine upon my knee, and gazed at 
the river banks : they were now old friends : I had 
gazed at them many times before; how much I had 
experienced, and how much had happened since I first 
saw them! Could it be that I should ever come to 

154 



SUMMER AT EHRENBERG 

love them, and the pungent smeU of the arrow-weed 
which covered them to the water's edge? 

The huge mosquitoes swarmed over us in the nights 
from those thick ckmips of arrow-weed and willow, 
and the nets with which Captain Mellon provided us 
did not afford much protection. 

The June heat was bad enough, though not quite 
so stifling as the August heat. I was becoming accus- 
tomed to climates, and had learned to endure dis- 
comfort. The salt beef and the Chinaman's peach 
pies were no longer offensive to me. Indeed, I had a 
good appetite for them, though they were not exactly 
the sort of food prescribed by the modern doctor, for 
a young mother. Of course, milk, eggs, and all fresh 
food were not to be had on the ri\t;r boats. Ice 
was still a thing unknown on the Colorado. 

When, after a week, the "Gila" pushed her nose 
up to the bank at Ehrenberg, there stood the Quarter- 
master. He jumped aboard, and did not seem in the 
least surprised to see me. "I knew you'd come 
back," said he. I laughed, of course, and we both 
laughed. 

"I hadn't the courage to go on," I replied. 

*'Oh, well, we can make things comfortable here 
and get through the summer some way," he said. 
"I'll build some rooms on, and a kitchen, and we 
can surely get along. It's the healthiest place in the 
w^orld for children, they tell me." 

So after a hearty handshake with Captain Mellon, 
155 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

who had taken such good care of me on my week's 
voyage up river, I being almost the only passenger, 
I put my foot once more on the shores of old Ehr en- 
berg, and we wended our way towards the blank 
white walls of the Government house. I was glad to 
be back, and content to wait. 

So work was begun immediately on the kitchen. 
My first stipulation was, that the new rooms were to 
have wooden floors; for, although the Cocopah Charley 
kept the adobe floors in perfect condition, by sprink- 
ling them down and sweeping them out every morn- 
ing, they were quite impossible, especially where it 
concerned white dresses and children, and the little 
sharp rocks in them seemed to be so tiring to the feet. 

Life as we Americans live it was difficult in Ehren- 
berg. I often said : ''Oh ! if we could only live as the 
Mexicans live, how easy it would be !" For they 
had their fire built between some stones piled up in 
their yard, a piece of sheet iron laid over the top: 
this was the cooking-stove. A pot of coffee was made 
in the morning early, and the family sat on the low 
porch and drank it, and ate a biscuit. Then a kettle 
of frijoles^ was put over to boil. These were boiled 
slowly for some hours, then lard and salt were added, 
and they simmered down until they were deliciously 
fit to eat, and had a thick red gravy. 

Then the young matron, or daughter of the house, 



^Mexican brown bean. 

156 



o 

p 




SUMMER AT EHRENBERG 

would mix the peculiar paste of flour and salt and 
water, for tortillas, a species of unleavened bread. 
These tortillas were patted out until they were as 
large as a dinner plate, and very thin; then thrown 
onto the hot sheet-iron, where they baked. Each 
one of the family then got a tortilla, the spoonful of 
beans was laid upon it, and so they managed without 
the paraphernalia of silver and china and napery. 

How I envied them the simplicity of their lives ! 
Besides, the tortillas were delicious to eat, and as for 
the frijoles, they were beyond anything I had ever 
eaten in the shape of beans. I took lessons in the 
making of tortillas. A woman was paid to come and 
teach me ; but I never mastered the art. It is in the 
blood of the Mexican, and a girl begins at a very early 
age to make the tortilla. It is the most graceful thing 
to see a pretty Mexican toss the wafer-like disc over 
her bare arm, and pat it out until transparent. 

This was their supper ; for, like nearly all people in 
the tropics, they ate only twice a day. Their fare 
was varied sometimes by a little carni scca, pounded 
up and stewed with chile vcrde or chile Colorado. 

Now if you could hear the soft, exquisite, affection- 
ate drawl with which the Mexican woman says chile 
vcrde you could perhaps come to realize what an 
important part the delicious green pepper plays in 
the cookery of these countries. They do not use it in 
its raw state, but generally roast it whole, stripping off 
the thin skin and throwing away the seeds, leaving 

157 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

only the pulp, which acquires a fine flavor by having 
been roasted or toasted over the hot coals. 

The women were scrupulously clean and modest, 
and always wore, when in their casa, a low-necked 
and short-sleeved white linen camisa, fitting neatly, 
with bands around neck and arms. Over this they 
wore a calico skirt; always white stockings and black 
slippers. When they ventured out, the younger 
women put on muslin gowns, and carried parasols. 
The older women wore a linen towel thrown over 
their heads, or, in cool weather, the black riboso. I 
often cried: ''Oh! if I could only dress as the Mexi- 
cans do ! Their necks and arms do look so cool 
and clean." 

I have always been sorry I did not adopt their 
fashion of house apparel. Instead of that, I yielded 
to the prejudices of my conservative partner, and 
sweltered during the day in high-necked and long- 
sleeved white dresses, kept up the table in American 
fashion, ate American food in so far as we could get 
it, and all at the expense of strength ; for our soldier 
cooks, who were loaned us by Captain Ernest from 
his company at Fort Yuma, were constantly being 
changed, and I was often left with the Indian and 
the indolent Patrocina. At those times, how I wished 
I had no silver, no table linen, no china, and could 
revert to the primitive customs of my neighbors ! 

There was no market, but occasionally a Mexican 
killed a steer, and we bought enough for one meal; 

158 



SUMMER AT EHRENBERG 

but having no ice, and no place away from the 
terrific heat, the meat was hung out under the ramdda 
with a piece of netting over it, until the first heat had 
passed out of it, and then it was cooked. 
. The Mexican, after selling what meat he could, cut 
the rest into thin strips and hung it up on ropes to 
dry in the sun. It dried hard and brittle, in its 
natural state, so pure is the air on that wonderful 
river bank. They called this carni sec a, and the 
Americans called it ''jerked beef," 

Patrocina often prepared me a dish of this, when 
I was unable to taste the fresh meat. She would 
pound it fine with a heavy pestle, and then put it to 
simmer, seasoning it with the green or red pepper. It 
was most savory. There was no butter at all during 
the hot months, but our hens laid a few eggs, and the 
Quartermaster was allowed to keep a small lot of 
commissary stores, from which we drew our supplies 
of flour, ham, and canned things. We were often 
without milk for weeks at a time, for the cows crossed 
the river to graze, and sometimes could not get back 
until the river fell again, and they could pick their 
way back across the shifting sand bars. 

The Indian brought the water every morning in 
buckets from the river. It looked like melted choco- 
late. He filled the barrels, and when it had settled 
clear, the oilas were filled, and thus the drinking water 
was a trifle cooler than the air. One day it seemed 
unusually cool, so I said: "Let us see by the ther- 

159 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

mometer how cool the water really is." We found 
the temperature of the water to be 86 degrees ; but 
that, with the air at 122 in the shade, seemed quite 
refreshing to drink. 

I did not see any white people at all except Fisher, 
Abe Frank (the mail contractor), and one or two of 
the younger merchants. If I wanted anything, I 
went to Fisher. He always could solve the difficulty. 
He procured for me an excellent middle-aged laun- 
dress, who came and brought the linen herself, and, 
bowing to the floor, said always, ''Buenos dias, Sen- 
orita!" dwelling on the latter word, as a gentle 
compliment to a younger woman, and then, ''Mucho 
color este dia," in her low, drawling voice. 

Like the others, she was spotlessly clean, modest 
and gentle. I asked her what on earth they did 
about bathing, for I had found the tub baths with 
the muddy water so disagreeable. She told me the 
women bathed in the river at daybreak, and asked 
me if I would like to go with them. 

I was only too glad to avail myself of her invita- 
tion, and so, like Pharoah's daughter of old, I went 
with my gentle handmaiden every morning to the 
river bank, and, wading in about knee-deep in the 
thick red waters, we sat down and let the swift cur- 
rent flow by us. We dared not go deeper; we could 
feel the round stones grinding against each other as 
they were carried down, and we were all afraid. It 
was difficult to keep one's foothold, and Capt. Mel- 

160 



SUMMER AT EHRENBERG 

Ion's words were ever ringing in my ears, "He who 
disappears below the surface of the Colorado is never 
seen again." But we joined hands and ventured like 
children and played like children in these red waters 
and after all, it was much nicer than a tub of muddy 
water indoors. 

A clump of low mesquite trees at the top of the 
bank afforded sufficient protection at that hour; we 
rubbed dry, slipped on a loose gown, and wended our 
way home. What a contrast to the limpid, bracing 
salt waters of my own beloved shores ! 

When I thought of them, I was seized with a 
longing which consumed me and made my heart sick ; 
and I thought of these poor people, who had never 
known anything in their lives but those desert places, 
and that muddy red water, and wondered what they 
would do, how they would act, if transported into 
some beautiful forest, or to the cool bright shores 
where clear blue waters invite to a plunge. 

Whenever the river-boat came up, we were sure to 
have guests, for many officers went into the Territory 
via Ehrenberg. Sometimes the "transportation" was 
awaiting them; at other times, they were obliged to 
wait at Ehrenberg until it arrived. They usually 
lived on the boat, as we had no extra rooms, but I 
generally asked them to luncheon or supper (for any- 
thing that could be called a dinner was out of the 
question). 

This caused me some anxiety, as there was nothing 
i6i 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

to be had; but I remembered the hospitality I had 
received, and thought of what they had been obliged 
to eat on the voyage, and I always asked them to 
share what we could provide, however simple it might 
be. 

At such times we heard all the news from Wash- 
ington and the States, and all about the fashions, and 
they, in their turn, asked me all sorts of questions 
about Ehrenberg and how I managed to endure the 
life. They were always astonished when the Cocopah 
Indian waited on them at table, for he wore nothing 
but his gee-string, and although it was an every-day 
matter to us, it rather took their breath away. 

But "Charley" appealed to my aesthetic sense in 
every way. Tall, and well-made, with clean-cut limbs 
and features, fine smooth copper-colored skin, hand- 
some face, heavy black hair done up in pompadour 
fashion and plastered with Colorado mud, which was 
baked white by the sun, a small feather at the crown 
of his head, wide turquoise bead bracelets upon his 
upper arm, and a knife at his waist — this was my 
Charley, my half-tame Cocopah, my man about the 
place, my butler in fact, for Charley understood how 
to open a bottle of Cocomonga gracefully, and to keep 
the glasses filled. 

Charley also wheeled the baby out along the river 
banks, for we had had a fine ''perambulator" sent 
down from San Francisco. It was an incongruous 
sight, to be sure, and one must laugh to think of it. 

162 



SUMMER AT EHRENBERG 

The Ehrenberg babies did not have carriages, and 
the village flocked to see it. There sat the fair-haired, 
six-months-old boy, with but one linen garment on, no 
cap, no stockings — and this wild man of the desert, 
his knife gleaming at his waist, and his gee-string 
floating out behind, wheeling and pushing the carriage 
along the sandy roads. 

But this came to an end ; for one day Fisher rushed 
in, breathless, and said: "Well! here is your baby! 
I was just in time, for that Injun of yours left the 
carriage in the middle of the street, to look in at the 
store window, and a herd of wild cattle came tearing 
down ! I grabbed the carriage to the sidewalk, cussed 
the Injun out, and here's the child! It's no use," he 
added, ''you can't trust those Injuns out of sight." 

The heat was terrific. Our cots were placed in the 
open part of the corral (as our courtyard was always 
called). It was a desolate-looking place ; on one side, 
the high adobe wall; on another, the freight-house; 
and on the other two, our apartments. Our kitchen 
and the two other rooms were now completed. The 
kitchen had no windows, only open spaces to admit the 
air and light, and we were often startled in the 
night by the noise of thieves in the house, rummaging 
for food. 

At such times, our soldier-cook would rush into the 
corral with his rifle, the Lieutenant would jump up 
and seize his shotgun, which always stood near by, 

163 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

and together they would roam through the house. 
But the thieving Indians could jump out of the win- 
dows as easily as they jumped in, and the excitement 
would soon be over. 

The violent sand-storms which prevail in those 
deserts, sometimes came up in the night, without 
warning; then we rushed half suffocated and blinded 
into the house, and as soon as we had closed the 
windows it had passed on, leaving a deep layer of 
sand on everything in the room, and on our perspiring 
bodies. 

Then came the work, next day, for the Indian had 
to carry everything out of doors ; and one storm was 
so bad that he had to use a shovel to remove the sand 
from the floors. The desert literally blew into the 
house. 

And now w^e saw a singular phenomenon. In the 
late afternoon of each day, a hot steam would collect 
over the face of the river, then slowly rise, and float- 
ing over the length and breadth of this wretched 
hamlet of Ehrenberg, descend upon and envelop us. 
Thus we wilted and perspired, and had one part of 
the vapor bath without its bracing concomitant of 
the cool shower. In a half hour it was gone, but 
always left me prostrate; then Jack gave me milk 
punch, if milk was at hand, or sherry and egg, or 
something to bring me up to normal again. We got 
to dread the steam so; it was the climax of the long 
hot day and was peculiar to that part of the river. 

164 



SUMMER AT EHRENBERG 

The paraphernalia by the side of our cots at night 
consisted of a pitcher of cold tea, a lantern, matches, 
a revolver, and a shotgun. Enormous yellow cats, which 
lived in and around the freight-house, darted to and 
fro inside and outside the house, along the ceiling- 
beams, emitting loud cries, and that alone was enough 
to prevent sleep. In the old part of the house, some 
of the partitions did not run up to the roof, but were 
left open (for ventilation, I suppose), thus making a 
fine play-ground for cats and rats, which darted along, 
squeaking, meow^ing and clattering all the night 
through. An uncanny feeling of insecurity was ever 
with me. What with the accumulated effect of the 
day's heat, what with the thieving Indians, the sand- 
storms and the cats, our nights by no means gave us 
the refreshment needed by our worn-out systems. By 
the latter part of the summer, I was so exhausted by 
the heat and the various difficulties of living, that I 
had become a mere shadow of my former self. 

Men and children seem to thrive in those climates, 
but it is death to women, as I had often heard. 

It was in the late summer that the boat arrived 
one day bringing a large number of staff officers and 
their wives, head clerks, and "general service" men 
for Fort Whipple. They had all been stationed in 
Washington for a number of years, having had what 
is known in the army as "gilt-edged" details. I threw 
a linen towel over my head, and went to the boat 
to call on them, and, remembering my voyage from 

165 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

San Francisco the year before, prepared to sympa- 
thize with them. But they had met their fate with 
resignation ; knowing they should find a good cHmate 
and a pleasant post up in the mountains, and as they 
had no young children with them, they were disposed 
to make merry over their discomforts. 

We asked them to come to our quarters for supper, 
and to come early, as any place was cooler than the 
boat, lying down there in the melting sun, and 
nothing to look upon but those hot zinc-covered decks 
or the ragged river banks, with their uninviting huts 
scattered along the edge. 

The surroundings somehow did not fit these people. 
Now Mrs. Montgomery at Camp Apache seemed to 
have adapted herself to the rude setting of a log 
cabin in the mountains, but these were Staff people 
and they had enjoyed for years the civilized side of 
army life; now they were determined to rough it, 
but they did not know how to begin. 

The beautiful wife of the Adjutant-General was 
mourning over some freckles which had come to 
adorn her dazzling complexion, and she had put on 
a large hat with a veil. Was there ever anything so 
incongruous as a hat and veil in Ehrenberg! For a 
long time I had not seen a woman in a hat; the 
Mexicans all wore a linen towel over their heads. 

But her beauty was startling, and, after all, I 
thought, a woman so handsome must try to live up 
to her reputation. 

i66 



SUMMER AT EHRENBERG 

Now for some weeks Jack had been investigating 
the sulphur well, which was beneath the old pump in 
our corral. He had had a long wooden bath-tub built, 
and I watched it with a lazy interest, and observed 
his glee as he found a longshoreman or roustabout 
who could caulk it. The shape was exactly like a 
coffin (but men have no imaginations), and when I 
told him how it made me feel to look at it, he said: 
''Oh ! you are always thinking of gloomy things. It's 
a fine tub, and we are mighty lucky to find that 
man to caulk it. I'm going to set it up in the little 
square room, and lead the sulphur water into it, and 
it will be splendid, and just think," he added, "what 
it will do for rheumatism!" 

Now Jack had served in the Twentieth Massachu- 
setts Volunteers during the Civil War, and the 
swamps of the Chickahominy had brought him into 
close acquaintance with that dread disease. 

As for myself, rheumatism was about the only ail- 
ment I did not have at that time, and I suppose I 
did not really sympathize with him. But this ener- 
getic and indomitable man mended the pump, with 
Fisher's help, and led the water into the house, laid a 
floor, set up the tub in the little square room, and 
behold, our sulphur bath ! 

After much persuasion, I tried the bath. The water 
flowed thick and inky black into the tub; of course 
the odor was beyond description, and the effect upon 
me was not such that I was ever willing to try it again. 

167 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Jack beamed. *'How do you like it, Martha?" said 
he. ''Isn't it fine? Why people travel hundreds of 
miles to get a bath like that !" 

I had my own opinion, but I did not wish to dampen 
his enthusiasm. Still, in order to protect myself in 
the future, I had to tell him I thought I should 
ordinarily prefer the river. 

"Well," he said, "there are those who will be 
thankful to have a bath in that water; / am going to 
use it every day." 

I remonstrated : "How do you know what is in that 
inky water — and how do you dare to use it ?" 

"Oh, Fisher says it's all right; people here used 
to drink it years ago, but they have not done so 
lately, because the pump was broken down." 

The Washington people seemed glad to pay us the 
visit. Jack's eyes danced with true generosity and 
glee. He marked his victim ; and, selecting the Staff 
beauty and the Paymaster's wife, he expatiated on 
the wonderful properties of his sulphur bath. 

"Why, yes, the sooner the better," said Mrs. Mar- 
tin. "I'd give everything I have in this world, and 
all my chances for the next, to get a tub bath!" 

"It will be so refreshing just before supper," said 
Mrs. Maynadier, who was more conservative. 

So the Indian, who had put on his dark blue waist- 
band (or sash), made from flannel, ravelled out and 
twisted into strands of yarn, and which showed the 
supple muscles of his clean-cut thighs, and who had 

i68 



SUMMER AT EHRENBERG 

done up an extra high pompadour in white clay, and 
burnished his knife, which gleamed at his waist, 
ushered these Washington women into a small apart- 
ment adjoining the bath-room, and turned on the 
inky stream into the sarcophagus. 

The Staff beauty looked at the black pool, and 
shuddered. ''Do you use it?" said she. 

''Occasionally," I equivocated. 

"Does it hurt the complexion?" she ventured. 

"Jack thinks it excellent for that," I replied. 

And then I left them, directing Charley to wait, and 
prepare the bath for the second victim. 

By and by the beauty came out. "Where is your 
mirror?" cried she (for our appointments were 
primitive, and mirrors did not grow on bushes at 
Ehrenberg) ; "I fancy I look queer," she added, and, 
in truth, she did; for our water of the Styx did not 
seem to affiliate with the chemical properties of the 
numerous cosmetics used by her, more or less, all her 
life, but especially on the voyage, and her face had 
taken on a queer color, with peculiar spots here and 
there. 

Fortunately my mirrors were neither large nor true, 
and she never really saw how she looked, but when 
she came back into the living-room, she laughed 
and said to Jack: "What kind of water did you say 
that was? I never saw any just like it." 

"Oh ! you have probably never been much to the 
169 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

sulphur springs," said he, with his most superior and 
crushing manner. 

"Perhaps not," she repUed, "but I thought I 
knew something about it ; why, my entire body turned 
such a queer color." 

"Oh! it always does that," said this optimistic 
soldier man, "and that shows it is doing good." 

The Paymaster's wife joined us later. I think she 
had profited by the beauty's experience, for she said 
but little. 

The Quartermaster was happy; and what if his 
wife did not believe in that uncanny stream which 
flowed somewhere from out the infernal regions, un- 
derlying that wretched hamlet, he had succeeded in 
being a benefactor to two travellers at least ! 

We had a merry supper: cold ham, chicken, and 
fresh biscuit, a plenty of good Cocomonga wine, sweet 
milk, which to be sure turned to curds as it stood on 
the table, some sort of preserves from a tin, and 
good coffee. I gave them the best to be had in the 
desert — and at all events it was a change from the 
chinaman's salt beef and peach pies, and they saw 
fresh table linen and shining silver, and accepted our 
simple hospitality in the spirit in which we gave it. 

Alice Martin was much amused over Charley; and 
Charley could do nothing but gaze on her lovely 
features. "Why on earth don't you put some clothes 
on him?" laughed she, in her delightful way. 

I explained to her that the Indian's fashion of 
170 



SUMMER AT EHRENBERG 

wearing white men's clothes was not pleasing to the 
eye, and told her that she must cultivate her aesthetic 
sense, and in a short time she would be able to admire 
these copper-colored creatures of Nature as much as 
I did. 

But I fear that a life spent mostly in a large city 
had cast fetters around her imagination, and that 
the life at Fort Whipple afterwards savored too 
much of civilization to loosen the bonds of her soul. 
I saw her many times again, but she never recovered 
from her amazement at Charley's lack of apparel, and 
she never forgot the sulphur bath. 

(171) 



CHAPTER XX 

MY de:uve:rer 

Onk day, in the early autumn, as the "Gila" 
touched at Ehrenberg, on her way down river, Cap- 
tain Mellon called Jack on to the boat, and, pointing 
to a young woman, who was about to go ashore, said : 
*'Now, there's a girl I think will do for your wife. 
She imagines she has bronchial troubles, and some 
doctor has ordered her to Tucson. She comes from 
up North somewhere. Her money has given out, and 
she thinks I am going to leave her here. Of course, 
you know I would not do that; I can take her on 
down to Yuma, but I thought your wife might like 
to have her, so I've told her she could not travel on 
this boat any farther without she could pay her fare. 
Speak to her: she looks to me like a nice sort of a 
girl." 

In the meantime, the young woman had gone ashore 
and was sitting upon her trunk, gazing hopelessly 
about. Jack approached, offered her a home and 
good wages, and brought her to me. 

I could have hugged her for very joy, but I re- 
strained myself and advised her to stay with us for 
awhile, saying the Ehrenberg climate was quite as 
good as that of Tucson. 

172 



MY DELIVERER 

She remarked quietly: ''You do not look as if it 
agreed with you very well, ma'am." 

Then I told her of my young child, and my hard 
journeys, and she decided to stay until she could earn 
enough to reach Tucson. 

And so Ellen became a member of our Ehrenberg 
family. She was a fine, strong girl, and a very good 
cook, and seemed to be in perfect health. She said, 
however, that she had had an obstinate cough which 
nothing would reach, and that was why she came to 
Arizona. From that time, things went more smoothly. 
Some yeast was procured from the Mexican bake- 
shop, and Ellen baked bread and other things, which 
seemed like the greatest luxuries to us. We sent 
the soldier back to his company at Fort Yuma, and 
began to live with a degree of comfort. 

I looked at Ellen as my deliverer, and regarded her 
coming as a special providence, the kind I had heard 
about all my life in New England, but had never 
much believed in. 

After a few weeks, Ellen was one evening seized 
with a dreadful toothache, which grew so severe that 
she declared she could not endure it another hour: 
she must have the tooth out. ''Was there a dentist in 
the place?" 

I looked at Jack: he looked at me: Ellen groaned 
with pain. 

"Why, yes ! of course there is," said this man for 
1/3 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

emergencies; ''Fisher takes out teeth, he told me so 
the other day." 

Now I did not beheve that Fisher knew any more 
about extracting teeth than I did myself, but I 
breathed a prayer to the Recording Angel, and said 
naught. 

"I'll go get Fisher," said Jack. 

Now Fisher was the steamboat agent. He stood 
six feet in his stockings, had a powerful physique 
and a determined eye. Men in those countries had 
to be determined; for if they once lost their nerve, 
Heaven save them. Fisher had handsome black eyes. 

When they came in, I said: ''Can you attend to 
this business, Mr. Fisher?" 

"I think so," he replied, quietly. "The Quarter- 
master says he has some forceps." 

I gasped. Jack, who had left the room, now ap- 
peared, a box of instruments in his hand, his eyes 
shining with joy and triumph. 

Fisher took the box, and scanned it. "I guess 
they'll do," said he. 

So we placed Ellen in a chair, a stiff barrack chair, 
with a raw-hide seat, and no arms. 

It was evening. 

"Mattie, you must hold the candle," said Jack. 
"I'll hold Ellen, and, Fisher, you pull the tooth." 

So I lighted the candle, and held it, while Ellen 
tried, by its flickering light, to show Fisher the tooth 
that ached. 

174 



MY DELIVERER 

Fisher looked again at the box of instruments. 
"Why," said he, "these are lower jaw rollers, the 
kind used a hundred years ago; and her tooth is an 
upper jaw." 

"Never mind," answered the Lieutenant, "the in- 
struments are all right. Fisher, you can get the tooth 
out, that's all you want, isn't it?" 

The Lieutenant was impatient; and besides he did 
not wish any slur cast upon his precious instruments. 

So Fisher took up the forceps, and clattered around 
amongst Ellen's sound white teeth. His hand shook, 
great beads of perspiration gathered on his face, and 
I perceived a very strong odor of Cocomonga wine. 
He had evidently braced for the occasion. 

It was, however, too late to protest. He fastened 
onto a molar, and with the lion's strength which lay 
in his gigantic frame, he wrenched it out. 

Ellen put up her hand and felt the place. "My 
God ! you've pulled the wrong tooth !" cried she, and 
so he had. 

I seized a jug of red wine which stood near by, and 
poured out a gobletful, which she drank. The blood 
came freely from her mouth, and I feared something 
dreadful had happened. 

Fisher declared she had shown him the wrong 
tooth, and was perfectly willing to try again. I could 
not witness the second attempt, so I put the candle 
down and fled. 

The stout-hearted and confiding girl allowed the 
175 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

second trial, and between the steamboat agent, the 
Lieutenant, and the red wine, the aching molar was 
finally extracted. 

This was a serious and painful occurrence. It did 
not cause any of us to laugh, at the time. I am sure 
that Ellen, at least, never saw the comical side of it. 

When it was all over, I thanked Fisher, and Jack 
beamed upon me with : *'You see, Mattie, my case of 
instruments did come in handy, after all." 

Encouraged by success, he applied for a pannier of 
medicines, and the Ehrenberg citizens soon regarded 
him as a healer. At a certain hour in the morning, 
the sick ones came to his office, and he dispensed 
simple drugs to them and was enabled to do much 
good. He seemed to have a sort of intuitive knowl- 
edge about medicines and performed some miraculous 
cures, but acquired little or no facility in the use of 
the language. 

I was often called in as interpreter, and with the 
help of the sign language, and the little I knew of 
Spanish, we managed to get an idea of the ailments of 
these poor people. 

And so our life flowed on in that desolate spot, by 
the banks of the Great Colorado. 

I rarely went outside the enclosure, except for my 
bath in the river at daylight, or for some urgent 
matter. The one street along the river was hot and 
sandy and neglected. One had not only to wade 
through the sand, but to step over the dried heads 

176 



MY DELIVERER 

or horns or bones of animals left there to whiten 
where they died, or thrown out, possibly, when some 
one killed a sheep or beef. Nothing decayed there, 
but dried and baked hard in that wonderful air and 
sun. 

Then, the groups of Indains, squaws and half- 
breeds loafing around the village and the store ! One 
never felt sure what one was to meet, and although 
by this time I tolerated about everything that I had 
been taught to think wicked or immoral, still, in 
Ehrenberg, the limit was reached, in the sights I saw 
on the village streets, too bold and too rude to be 
described in these pages. 

The few white men there led respectable lives 
enough for that country. The standard was not high, 
and when I thought of the dreary years they had 
already spent there without their families, and the 
years they must look forward to remaining there, I 
was willing to reserve my judgement. 

(177) 



CHAPTER XXI 

WINTER IN EHRENBERG 

We asked my sister, Mrs. Penniman, to come out 
and spend the winter with us, and to bring her son, 
who was in most dehcate health. It was said that the 
cHmate of Ehrenberg would have a magical effect 
upon all diseases of the lungs or throat. So, to save 
her boy, my sister made the long and arduous trip 
out from New England, arriving in Ehrenberg in 
October. 

What a joy to see her, and to initiate her into the 
ways of our life in Arizona! Everything was new, 
everything was a wonder to her and to my nephew. 
At first, he seemed to gain perceptibly, and we had 
great hopes of his recovery. 

It was now cool enough to sleep indoors, and we be- 
gan to know what it was to have a good night's rest. 

But no sooner had we gotten one part of our life 
comfortably arranged, before another part seemed to 
fall out of adjustment. Accidents and climatic con- 
ditions kept my mind in a perpetual state of unrest. 

Our dining-room door opened through two small 
rooms into the kitchen, and one day, as I sat at the 
table, waiting for Jack to come in to supper, I heard 
a strange sort of crashing noise. Looking towards 
the kitchen, through the vista of open doorways, I 



WINTER IN EHRENBERG 

saw Ellen rush to the door which led to the courtyard. 
She turned a livid white, threv/ up her hands, and 
cried, "Great God! the Captain!" She was transfixed 
with horror. 

I flew to the door, and saw that the pump had 
collapsed and gone down into the deep sulphur well. 
In a second, Jack's head and hands appeared at the 
edge ; he seemed to be caught in the debris of rotten 
timber. Before I could get to him, he had scrambled 
half way out. ''Don't come near this place," he cried, 
''it's all caving in!" 

And so it seemed ; for, as he worked himself up and 
out, the entire structure feel in, and half the corral 
with it, as it looked to me. 

Jack escaped what might have been an unlucky bath 
in his sulphur well, and we all recovered our com- 
posure as best we could. 

Surely, if life was dull at Ehrenberg, it could not 
be called exactly monotonous. We were not obliged 
to seek our excitement outside; we had plenty of it, 
such as it was, within our walls. 

My confidence in Ehrenberg, however, as a salu- 
brious dwelling-place, was being gradually and liter- 
ally undermined. I began to be distrustful of the very 
ground beneath my feet. Ellen felt the same way, 
evidently, although we did not talk much about it. 
She probably longed also for some of her own kind; 
and when, one morning, we went into the dining-room 
for breakfast, Ellen stood, hat on, bag in hand, at the 

179 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

door. Dreading to meet my chagrin, she said : ''Good- 
bye, Captain; good-bye, missis, you've been very kind 
to me. I'm leaving on the stage for Tucson — where 
I first started for, you know." 

And she tripped out and cHmbed up into the dusty, 
rickety vehicle called ''the stage." I had felt so 
safe about Ellen, as I did not know that any stage line 
ran through the place. 

And now I was in a fine plight! I took a sun- 
shade, and ran over to Fisher's house. "Mr. Fisher, 
what shall I do? Ellen has gone to Tucson !" 

Fisher bethought himself, and we went out together 
in the village. Not a woman to be found who would 
come to cook for us ! There was only one thing to do. 
The Quartermaster was allowed a soldier, to assist in 
the Government work. I asked him if he understood 
cooking ; he said he had never done any, but he would 
try, if I would show him how. 

This proved a hopeless task, and I finally gave it up. 
Jack dispatched an Indian runner to Fort Yuma, 
ninety miles or more down river, begging Captain 
Ernest to send us a soldier-cook on the next boat. 

This was a long time to wait; the inconveniences 
were intolerable: there were our four selves, Patro- 
cina and Jesusita, the soldier-clerk and the Indian, to 
be provided for: Patrocina prepared carni seca with 
peppers, a little boy came around with cuajada, a 
delicious sweet curd cheese, and I tried my hand at 
bread, following out Ellen's instructions. 

i8o 



WINTER IN EHRENBERG 

How often I said to my husband. "If we must live 
in this wretched place, let's give up civilization and 
live as the Mexicans do! They are the only happy 
beings around here. 

"Look at them, as you pass along the street! At 
nearly any hour in the day you can see them, sitting 
under their ramada, their backs propped against the 
wall of their casa, calmly smoking cigarettes and 
gazing at nothing, with a look of ineffable contentment 
upon their features ! They surely have solved the 
problem of life !" 

But we seemed never to be able to free ourselves 
from the fetters of civilization, and so I struggled on. 

One evening after dusk, I went into the kitchen, 
opened the kitchen closet door to take out some 
dish, when clatter ! bang ! down fell the bread-pan, 
and a shower of other tin ware, and before I could 
fairly get my breath, out jumped two young squaws 
and without deigning to glance at me they darted 
across the kitchen and leaped out the window like 
two frightened fawn. 

They had on nothing but their birthday clothes 
and as I was somewhat startled at the sight of them, 
I stood transfixed, my eyes gazing at the open space 
through which they had flown. 

Charley, the Indian, was in the corral, filling the 
ollas, and, hearing the commotion, came in and saw 
just the disappearing heels of the two squaws. 

I said, very sternly: "Charley, how came those 
i8i 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

squaws in my closet?" He looked very much ashamed 
and said: "Oh, me tell you: bad man go to kill 
'em; I hide 'em." 

"Well," said I, "do not hide any more girls in 
this casa! You savez that?" 

He bowed his head in asquiescence. 

I afterwards learned that one of the girls was 
his sister. 

The weather was now fairly comfortable, and in 
the evenings we sat under the ramada, in front of the 
house, and watched the beautiful pink glow which 
spread over the entire heavens and illuminated the 
distant mountains of Lower California. I have never 
seen anything like that wonderful color, which spread 
itself over sky, river and desert. For an hour, one 
could have believed oneself in a magician's realm. 

At about this time, the sad-eyed Patrocina found it 
expedient to withdraw into the green valleys of Lower 
California, to recuperate for a few months. With 
the impish Jesusita in her arms, she bade me a 
mournful good-bye. Worthless as she was from the 
standpoint of civilized morals, I was attached to her 
and felt sorry to part with her. 

Then I took a Mexican woman from Chihuahua. 
Now the Chihuahuans hold their heads high, and it 
was rather with awe that I greeted the tall middle- 
aged Chihuahuan lady who came to be our little son's 
nurse. Her name was Angela. "Angel of light," I 
thought, how fortunate I am to get her ! 

182 



WINTER IN EHRENBERG 

After a few weeks, Fisher observed that the whole 
village was eating Ferris ham, an unusual delicacy 
in Ehrenberg, and that the Goldwaters' had sold 
none. So he suggested that our commissary store- 
house be looked to; and it was found that a dozen 
hams or so had been withdrawn from their canvas 
covers, the covers stuffed with straw, and hung back 
in place. Verily the Chihuahuan was adding to her 
pin-money in a most unworthy fashion, and she had 
to go. After that, I was left without a nurse. My 
little son was now about nine months old. 

Milk began to be more plentiful at this season, and, 
with my sister's advice and help, I decided to make 
the one great change in a baby's life — i.e., to take him 
from his mother. Modern methods were unknown 
then, and we had neither of us any experience in 
these matters and there was no doctor in the place. 

The result was, that both the baby and myself 
were painfully and desparately ill and not knowing 
which way to turn for aid, when, by a lucky turn of 
Fortune's wheel, our good, dear Doctor Henry 
Lippincott came through Ehrenberg on his way out 
to the States. Once more he took care of us, and 
it is to him that I believe I owe my life. 

Captain Ernest sent us a cook from Yuma, and 
soon some officers came for the duck-shooting. There 
were thousands of ducks around the various lagoons 
in the neighborhood, and the sport was rare. We had 
all the ducks we co^M eat . 

183 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Then came an earthquake, which tore and rent the 
baked earth apart. The ground shivered, the windows 
rattled, the birds fell close to the ground and could 
not fly, the stove-pipes fell to the floor, the thick walls 
cracked and finally, the earth rocked to and fro like 
some huge thing trying to get its balance. 

It was in the afternoon. My sister and I were sit- 
ting with our needle-work in the living-room. Little 
Harry was on the floor, occupied with some toys. I 
was paralyzed with fear ; my sister did not move. We 
sat gazing at each other, scarce daring to breathe, 
expecting every instant the heavy walls to crumble 
about our heads. The earth rocked and rocked, and 
rocked again, then swayed and swayed and finally was 
still. My sister caught Harry in her arms, and then 
Jack and Willie came breathlessly in. "Did you feel 
it ?" said Jack. 

"Did we feel it !" said I, scornfully. 

Sarah was silent, and I looked so reproachfully at 
Jack, that he dropped his light tone, and said: "It 
was pretty awful. We were in the Goldwaters' store, 
when suddenly it grew dark and the lamps above 
our heads began to rattle and swing, and we all 
rushed out into the middle of the street and stood, 
rather dazed, for we scarcely knew what had hap- 
pened; then we hurried home. But it's all over 
now." 

"I do not believe it," said I ; "we shall have more" ; 
and, in fact, we did have two light shocks in the 

184 



WINTER IN EHRENBERG 

night, but no more followed, and the next morning, 
we recovered, in a measure, from our fright and went 
out to see the great fissures in that treacherous crust 
of earth upon which Ehrenberg was built. 

I grew afraid, after that, and the idea that the 
earth would eventually open and engulf us all took 
possession of my mind. 

My health, already weakened by shocks and severe 
strains, gave way entirely. I, who had gloried in 
the most perfect health, and had a constitution of iron, 
became an emaciated invalid. 

From my window, one evening at sundown, I saw a 
weird procession moving slowly along towards the 
outskirts of the village. It must be a funeral, thought 
I, and it flashed across my mind that I had never 
seen the burying-ground. 

A man with a rude cross led the procession. Then 
came some Mexicans with violins and guitars. After 
the musicians, came the body of the deceased, wrapped 
in a white cloth, borne on a bier by friends, and fol- 
lowed by the little band of weeping women, with 
black ribosos folded about their heads. They did not 
use coffins at Ehrenberg, because they had none, I 
suppose. 

The next day I asked Jack to walk to the grave-yard 
with me. He postponed it from day to day, but I in- 
sisted upon going. At last, he took me to see it. 

There was no enclosure, but the bare, sloping, sandy 
place was sprinkled with graves, marked by heaps of 

i8s 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

stones, and in some instances by rude crosses of wood, 
some of which had been wrenched from their upright 
position by the fierce sand-storms. There was not a 
blade of grass, a tree, or a flower. I walked about 
among these graves, and close beside some of them I 
saw deep holes and whitnened bones. I was quite 
ignorant or unthinking, and asked what the holes 
were. 

''It is where the coyotes and wolves come in the 
nights," said Jack. 

My heart sickened as I thought of these horrors, 
and I wondered if Ehrenberg held anything in store 
for me worse than what I had already seen. We 
turned away from this unhallowed grave-yard and 
walked to our quarters. I had never known much 
about "nerves," but I began to see spectres in the 
night, and those ghastly graves with their coyote-holes 
were ever before me. The place was but a stone's 
throw from us, and the uneasy spirits from these 
desecrated graves began to haunt me. I could not sit 
alone on the porch at night, for they peered 
through the lattice, and mocked at me, and beckoned. 
Some had no heads, some no arms, but they pointed 
or nodded towards the grewsome burying-ground : 
"You'll be with us soon, you'll be with us soon." 

(186) 



CHAPTER XXII 

RETURN TO THE STATES 

I dream of the east wind's tonic, 
Of the breakers' stormy roar, 

And the peace of the inner harbor 
With the long low Shimmo shore. 
» * * * * 

I long for the buoy-bell's tolling 

When the north wind brings from afar 

The smooth, green, shining billows, 
To be churned into foam on the bar. 

Oh! for the sea-gulls' screaming 
As they swoop so bold and free! 

Oh! for the fragrant commons, 
And the glorious open sea! — 

For the restful great contentment, 
For the joy that is never known 

Till past the jetty and Brant Point Light 
The Islander comes to his own! 

—MARY E. STARBUCK. 

"I MUST send you out. I see that you cannot stand 
it here another month," said Jack one day; and so 
he bundled us onto the boat in the early spring, and 
took us down the river to meet the ocean steamer. 

There was no question about it this time, and I well 
knew it. 

I left my sister and her son in Ehrenberg, and I 
never saw my nephew again. A month later, his state 

187 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

of health became so alarming that my sister took him 
to San Francisco. He survived the long voyage, but 
died there a few weeks later at the home of my cousin. 

At Fort Yuma we telegraphed all over the country 
for a nurse, but no money would tempt those Mexican 
women to face an ocean voyage. Jack put me on 
board the old "Newbern" in charge of the Captain, 
waited to see our vessel under way, then waved good- 
bye from the deck of the "Gila," and turned his face 
towards his post and duty. I met the situation as 
best I could, and as I have already described a voyage 
on this old craft, I shall not again enter into details. 
There was no stewardess on board, and all arrange- 
ments were of the crudest description. Both my child 
and I were seasick all the way, and the voyage lasted 
sixteen days. Our misery was very great. 

The passengers were few in number, only a couple 
of Mexican miners who had been prospecting, an 
irritable old Mexican woman, and a German doctor, 
who was agreeable but elusive. 

The old Mexican woman sat on the deck all day, 
with her back against the stateroom door; she was a 
picturesque and indolent figure. 

There was no diversion, no variety; my little boy 
required constant care and watching. The days 
seemed endless. Everbody bought great bunches of 
green bananas at the ports in Mexico, where we stop- 
ped for passengers. 

The old woman was irritable, and one day when 
i88 



RETURN TO THE STATES 

she saw the agreeable German doctor pulhng bananas 
from the bunch v/hich she had hung in the sun to 
ripen, she got up muttering ''Carramba," and shaking 
her fist in his face. He appeased her wrath by offer- 
ing her, in the most fluent Spanish, some from his 
own bunch when they should be ripe. 

Such were my surroundings on the old ''Newbern." 
The German doctor was interesting, and I loved to talk 
with him, on days when I was not seasick, and to 
read the letters which he had received from his 
family, who were living on their Rittergut (or landed 
estates) in Prussia. 

He amused me by tales of his life at a wretched 
little mining village somewhere about fifty miles from 
Ehrenberg, and I was always wondering how he came 
to have lived there. 

He had the keenest sense of humor, and as I listened 
to the tales of his adventures and miraculous escapes 
from death at the hands of these desperate folk, I 
looked in his large laughing blue eyes and tried to 
solve the mystery. 

For that he was of noble birth and of ancient 
family there was no doubt. There were the letters, 
there was the crest, and here was the offshoot of the 
family. I made up my mind that he was a ne'er-do- 
weel and a rolling stone. He was elusive, and, beyond 
his adventures, told me nothing of himself. It was 
some time after my arrival in San Francisco that I 
learned more about him. 

189 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Now, after we rounded Cape St. Lucas, we were 
caught in the long heavy swell of the Pacific Ocean, 
and it was only at intervals that my little boy and I 
could leave our stateroom. The doctor often held 
him while I ran below to get something to eat, 
and I can never forget his kindness; and if, as I 
afterward heard in San Francisco, he really had 
entered the ''Gate of a hundred sorrows," it would 
perhaps best explain his elusiveness, his general con- 
dition, and his sometimes dazed expression. 

A gentle and kindly spirit, met by chance, known 
through the propinquity of a sixteen days' voyage, 
and never forgotten. 

Everything comes to an end, however interminable 
it may seem, and at last the sharp and jagged outlines 
of the coast began to grow softer and we approached 
the Golden Gate. 

The old "Newbern," with nothing in her but bal- 
last, rolled and lurched along, through the bright 
green waters of the outer bar. I stood leaning 
against the great mast, steadying myself as best I 
could, and the tears rolled down my face; for I saw 
the friendly green hills, and before me lay the glorious 
bay of San Francisco. I had left behind me the des- 
erts, the black rocks, the burning sun, the snakes, the 
scorpions, the centipedes, the Indians and the Ehren- 
berg graveyard; and so the tears flowed, and I did 
not try to stop them ; they were tears of joy. 

190 



RETURN TO THE STATES 

The custom officers wanted to confiscate the great 
bundles of Mexican cigarettes they found in my trunk, 
but "No," I told them, "they were for my own use." 
They raised their eyebrows, gave me one look, and 
put them back into the trunk. 

My beloved California relatives met us, and took 
care of us for a fortnight, and when I entered a Pull- 
man car for a nine days' journey to my old home, it 
seemed like the most luxurious comfort, although I 
had a fourteen-months-old child in my arms, and 
no nurse. So does everything in this life go by com- 
parison. 

Arriving in Boston, my sister Harriet met me at 
the train, and as she took little Harry from my arms 
she cried: "Where did you get that sunbonnet? Now 
the baby can't wear that in Boston !" 

Of course we were both thinking hard of all that 
had happened to me since we parted, on the morning 
after my wedding, two years before, and we were so 
overcome with the joy of meeting, that if it had not 
been for the baby's white sunbonliet, I do not know 
what kind of a scene we might have made. That 
saved the situation, and after a few days of rest and 
necessary shopping, we started for our old home in 
Nantucket. Such a welcome as the baby and I had 
from my mother and father and all old friends ! 

But I saw sadness in their faces, and I heard it in 
their voices, for no one thought I could possibly live. 
I felt, however, sure it was not too late. I knew the 

I9J 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

East wind's tonic would not fail me, its own child. 

Stories of our experiences and misfortunes were 
eagerly listened to, by the family, and betwixt sighs 
and laughter they declared they were going to fill 
some boxes which should contain everything necessary 
for comfort in those distant places. So one room in 
our old house was set apart for this ; great boxes were 
brought, and day by day various articles, useful, orna- 
mental, and comfortable, and precious heirlooms of 
silver and glass, were packed away in them. It was 
the year of 1876, the year of the great Centennial, at 
Philadelphia. Everybody went, but it. had no attrac- 
tions for me. I was happy enough, enjoying the 
health-giving air and the comforts of an Eastern 
home. I wondered that I had ever complained about 
anything there, or wished to leave that blissful spot. 

The poorest person in that place by the sea had 
more to be thankful for, in my opinion, than the 
richest people in Arizona. I felt as if I must cry 
it out from the house-tops. My heart was thankful 
every minute of the day and night, for every breath 
of soft air that I breathed, for every bit of fresh fish 
that I ate, for fresh vegetables, and for butter — for 
gardens, for trees, for flowers, for the good firm earth 
beneath my feet. I wrote the man on detached service 
that I should never return to Ehrenberg. 

After eight months, in which my health was wholly 
restored, I heard the good news that Captain Corliss 

192 



RETURN TO THE STATES 

had applied for his first Heutenant, and I decided to 
join him at once at Camp MacDowell. 

Although I had not wholly forgotten that Camp 
MacDowell had been called by very bad names dur- 
ing our stay at Fort Whipple, at the time that Jack de- 
cided on the Ehrenberg detail, I determined to brave it, 
in all its unattractiveness, isolation and heat, for I 
knew there was a garrison and a Doctor there, and 
a few officers' families, I knew supplies were to be 
obtained and the ordinary comforts of a far-off post. 
Then too, in my summer in the East I had discovered 
that I was really a soldier's wife and I must go back 
to it all. To the army with its ghtter and its misery, 
to the post with its discomforts, to the soldiers, to the 
drills, to the bugle-calls, to the monotony, to the heat 
of Southern Arizona, to the uniform and the stalwart 
Captains and gay Lieutenants who wore it, I felt the 
call and I must go. 

(193) 



CHAPTER XXIII 

BACK TO ARIZONA 

The last nails were driven in the precious boxes, 
and I started overland in November with my little son, 
now nearly two years old. 

"Overland" in those days meant nine days from 
New York to San Francisco. Arriving in Chicago, I 
found it impossible to secure a section on the Pull- 
man car so was obliged to content myself with a lower 
berth. I did not allow myself to be disappointed. 

On entering the section, I saw an enormous pair of 
queer cow hide shoes, the very queerest shoes I had 
ever seen, lying on the floor, with a much used travel- 
ling bag. I speculated a good deal on the shoes, but 
did not see the owner of them until several hours later, 
when a short thick-set German with sandy close-cut 
beard entered and saluted me politely. "You are notic- 
ing my shoes perhaps Madame?" 

"Yes" I said, involuntarily answering him in German. 

His face shone with pleasure and he explained to 
me that they were made in Russia and he always 
wore them when travelling. "What have we," I 
thought, "an anarchist?" 

But with the inexperience and fearlessness of youth, 
I entered into a most delightful conversation in Ger- 
man with him. I found him rather an extraordinarily 



194 



BACK TO ARIZONA 

well educated gentleman and he said he lived in 
Nevada, but had been over to Vienna to place his little 
boy at a military school, ''as," he said, "there is no- 
thing like a uniform to give a boy self-respect." He 
said his wife had died several months before. I con- 
gratulated myself that the occupant of the upper berth 
was at least a gentleman. 

The next day, as we sat opposite each other chatting, 
always in German, he paused, and fixing his eyes 
rather steadily upon me he remarked : ''Do you think 
I put on mourning when my wife died? no indeed, I 
put on white kid gloves and had a fiddler and danced 
at the grave. All this mourning that people have is 
utter nonsense." 

I was amazed at the turn his conversation had taken 
and sat quite still, not knowing just what to say or 
to do. 

After awhile, he looked at me steadily, and said, 
very deferentially, "Madame, the spirit of my dead 
wife is looking at me from out your eyes." 

By this time I realized that the man was a maniac, 
and I had always heard that one must agree with 
crazy people, so I nodded, and that seemed to satisfy 
him, and bye and bye after some minutes which 
seemed like hours to me, he went off to the smoking 
room. 

The tension was broken and I appealed to a very 
nice looking woman who happened to be going to some 
place in Nevada near which this Doctor lived, and 

195 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

she said, when I told her his name, "Why, yes, I heard 
of him before I left home, he lives in Silver City, and 
at the death of his wife, he went hopelessly insane, 
but," she added, **he is harmless, I believe." 

This Vv^as a nice lix, to be sure, and I staid over in 
her section all day, and late that night the Doctor 
arrived at the junction where he was to take another 
train. So I slept in peace, after a considerable agita- 
tion. 

There is nothing like experience to teach a young 
woman how to travel alone. 

In San Francisco I learned that I could now go 
as far as Los Angeles by rail, thence by steamer to San 
Diego, and so on by stage to Fort Yuma, where my 
husband was to meet me with an am.bulance and a 
wagon. 

I was enchanted with the idea of avoiding the long 
sea-trip down the Pacific coast, but sent my boxes 
down by the Steamer ''Montana," sister ship of the 
old ''Newbern," and after a few days' rest in San 
Francisco, set forth by rail for Los Angeles. At San 
Pedro, the port of Los Angeles, we embarked for 
San Diego. It was a heavenly night. I sat on deck 
enjoying the calm sea, and listening to the romantic 
story of Lieutenant Philip Reade, then stationed at 
San Diego. He was telling the story himself, and I 
had never read or heard of anything so mysterious 
or so tragic. 

Then, too, aside from the story, Mr. Reade was a 
196 



BACK TO ARIZONA 

very good-looking and chivalrous young army officer. 
He was returning to his station in San Diego, and we 
had this pleasant opportunity to renew what had been 
a very slight acquaintance. 

The calm waters of the Pacific, with their long and 
gentle swell, the pale light of the full moon, our 
steamer gliding so quietly along, the soft air of the 
California coast, the absence of noisy travellers, these 
made a fit setting for the story of his early love and 
marriage, and the tragic mystery which surrounded 
the death of his young bride. 

All the romance which lived and will ever live in 
me was awake to the story, and the hours passed all 
too quickly. 

But a cry from my little boy in the near-by deck 
stateroom recalled me to the realities of life and I 
said good-night, having spent one of the most delight- 
ful evenings I ever remember. 

Mr. Reade wears now a star on his shoulder, and 
well earned it is, too. I wonder if he has forgotten 
how he helped to bind up my little boy's finger wliicli 
had been broken in an accident on the train from San 
Francisco to Los Angeles? or how he procured a 
surgeon for me on our arrival there, and got a com- 
fortable room for us at the hotel? or how he took us 
to drive (with an older lady for a chaperon), or how 
he kindly cared, for us until we were safely on the 
boat that evening? If I had ever thought chivalry 
dead, I learned then that I had been mistaken. 

197 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

San Diego charmed me, as we steamed, the next 
morning, into its shining bay. But as our boat was 
two hours late and the stage-coach was waiting, I had 
to decline Mr. Reade's enchanting offers to drive us 
around the beautiful place, to show me the fine 
beaches, and his quarters, and all other points of in- 
terest in this old town of Southern California. 

Arizona, not San Diego, was my destination, so we 
took a hasty breakfast at the hotel and boarded the 
stage, which, filled with passengers, was waiting before 
the door. 

The driver waited for no ceremonies, muttered some- 
thing about being late, cracked his whip, and away 
we went. I tried to stow myself and my little boy 
and my belongings away comfortably, but the road 
was rough and the coach swayed, and I gave it up. 
There were passengers on top of the coach, and passen- 
gers inside the coach. One woman who was totally 
deaf, and some miners and blacksmiths, and a few 
other men, the flotsam and jetsam of the Western 
countries, who come from no one knoweth whence, and 
who go, no one knoweth whither, who have no trade 
or profession and are sometimes even without a name. 

They seemed to want to be kind to me. Harry 
got very stage-sick and gave us much trouble, and 
they all helped me to hold him. Night came. I do 
not remember that we made any stops at all; if we 
did, I have forgotten them. The night on that stage- 
coach can be better imagined than described. I do 

198 



BACK TO ARIZONA 

not know of any adjectives that I could apply to it. 

Just before dawn, we stopped to change horses and 
driver, and as the day began to break, we felt our- 
selves going down somewhere at a terrific speed. 

The great Concord coach slipped and slid and 
swayed on its huge springs as we rounded the curves. 

The road was narrow and appeared to be cut out of 
solid rock, which seemed to be as smooth as soapstone ; 
the four horses were put to their speed, and down 
and around and away we went. I drew in my breath 
as I looked out and over into the abyss on my left. 
Death and destruction seemed to be the end awaiting 
us all. Everybody was limp, when we reached the 
bottom — that is, I was limp, and I suppose the others 
were. The stage-driver knew I was frightened, be- 
cause I sat still and looked white and he came and 
lifted me out. He lived in a small cabin at the 
bottom of the mountain; I talked with him some. 
"The fact is," he said, "we are an hour late this 
morning; we always make it a point to Mo it' before 
dawn, so the passengers can't see anything; they are 
almost sure to get stampeded if we come down by 
daylight." 

I mentioned this road afterwards in San Francisco, 
and learned that it was a famous road, cut out of the 
side of a solid mountain of rock ; long talked of, long 
desired, and finally built, at great expense, by the 
state and the county together; that they always had 
the same man to drive over it, and that they never did 

199 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

it by daylight. I did not inquire if there had ever 
been any accidents. I seemed to have learned all I 
wanted to know about it. 

After a little rest and a breakfast at a sort of road- 
house, a relay of horses was taken, and we travelled 
one more day over a flat country, to the end of the 
stage-route. Jack was to meet me. Already from 
the stage I had espied the post ambulance and two 
blue uniforms. Out jumped Major Ernest and Jack. 
I remember thinking how straight and how well they 
looked. I had forgotten really how avnyy men did 
look, I had been so long away. v/ 

And now we were to go to Fort Yuma and stay 
with the Wells' until my boxes, which had been 
sent around by water on the steamer ''Montana," 
should arrive. I had only the usual thirty pounds 
allowance of luggage with me on the stage, and it was 
made up entirely of my boy's clothing, and an evening 
dress I had worn on the last night of my stay in San 
Francisco. 

Fort Yuma was delightful at this season (Decem- 
ber), and after four or five days spent most enjoyably, 
we crossed over one morning on the old rope ferry- 
boat to Yuma City, to inquire at the big country store 
there of news from the Gulf. There was no bridge 
then over the Colorado. 

The merchant called Jack to one side and said some- 
thing to him in a low tone. I was sure it concerned 
the steamer, and I said: "what it is?" 

200 



BACK TO ARIZONA 

Then they told me that news had just been received 
from below, that the "Montana" had been burned 
to the water's Q(]gii in Guaynias harbor, and every- 
thing on board destroyed; the passengers had been 
saved with much difficulty, as the disaster occurred 
in the night. 

I had lost all the clothes I had in the world — and 
my precious boxes were gone. I scarcely knew how 
to meet the calamity. 

Jack said: ''Don't mind, Mattie; I'm so thankful 
you and the boy were not on board the ship ; the things 
are nothing, no account at all." 

"But," said I, "you do not understand. I have no 
clothes except what I have on, and a party dress. Oh ! 
what shall I do ?" I cried. 

The merchant was very sympathetic and kind, and 
Major Wells said, "Let's go home and tell Fanny; 
maybe she can suggest something." 

I turned toward the counter, and bought some sew- 
ing materials, realizing that outside of my toilet 
articles and my party dress all my personal belong- 
ings were swept away. I was in a country where 
there were no dressmakers, and no shops ; I was, for 
the time being, a pauper, as far as clothing was 
concerned. 

When I got back to Mrs. Wells I broke down 
entirely; she put her arms around me and said: "I've 
heard all about it; I know just how you must feel; 

201 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

now come in my room, and we'll see what can be 
done." 

She laid out enough clothing to last me until I 
could get some things from the East, and gave me a 
grey and white percale dress with a basque, and a 
border, and although it was all very much too large 
for me, it sufficed to relieve my immediate distress. 

Letters were dispatched to the East, in various 
directions, for every sort and description of clothing, 
but it was at least two months before any of it ap- 
peared, and I felt like an object of charity for a long 
time. Then, too, I had anticipated the fitting up of 
our quarters with all the pretty cretonnes and other 
things I had brought from home. And now the 
contents of those boxes were no more ! The memory 
of the visit was all that was left to me. It was very 
hard to bear. 

Preparations for our journey to Camp MacDowell 
were at last completed. The route to our new post 
lay along the valley of the Gila River, following it up 
from its mouth, where it empties into the Colorado, 
eastwards towards the southern middle portion of 
Arizona. 

(202) 



CHAPTER XXIV 

UP THK VALLEY OF the: GILA 

Thk De:cembe;r sun was shining brightly down, as 
only the Arizona sun can shine at high noon in winter, 
when we crossed the Colorado on the primitive ferry- 
boat drawn by ropes, clambered up into the great 
thorough-brace wagon (or ambulance) with its dusty 
white canvas covers all rolled up at the sides, said 
good-bye to our kind hosts of Fort Yuma, and started, 
rattling along the sandy main street of Yuma City, 
for old Camp MacDowell. 

Our big blue army wagon, which had been provided 
for my boxes and trunks, rumbling along behind us, 
empty except for the camp equipage. 

But it all seemed so good to me: I was happy to 
see the soldiers again, the drivers and teamsters, and 
even the sleek Government mules. The old blue 
uniforms made my heart glad. Every sound was 
familiar, even the rattling of the harness with its 
ivory rings and the harsh sound of the heavy brakes 
reinforced with old leather soles. 

Even the country looked attractive, smiling under 
the December sun. I wondered if I had really grown 
to love the desert. I had read somewhere that people 
did. But I was not paying much attention in those 
days to the analysis of my feelings. I did not stop to 

203 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

question the subtle fascination which I felt steal over 
me as we rolled along the smooth hard roads that 
followed the windings of the Gila River. I was back 
again in the army; I had cast my lot with a soldier, 
and where he was, was home to me. 

In Nantucket, no one thought much about the army. 
The uniform of the regulars was never seen there. 
The profession of arms was scarcely known or heard 
of. Few people manifested any interest in the life 
of the Far West. I had, while there, felt out of 
touch with my oldest friends. Only my darling old 
uncle, a brave old whaling captain, had said : "Mattie, 
I am much interested in all you have written us about 
Arizona; come right down below and show me on 
the dining-room map just where you went." 

Gladly I followed him down the stairs, and he took 
his pencil out and began to trace. After he had 
crossed the Mississippi, there did not seem to be any- 
thing but blank country, and I could not find Arizona, 
and it was written in large letters across the entire 
half of this antique map, ''Unexplored." 

"True enough," he laughed. "I must buy me a 
new map." 

But he drew his pencil around Cape Horn and up 
the Pacific coast, and I described to him the voyages 
I had made on the old ''Newbern," and his face was 
aglow with memories. 

"Yes," he said, "in 1826, we put into San Fran- 
cisco harbor and sent our boats up to San Jose for 

204 



UP THE VALLEY OF THE GILA 

water and we took goats fro;ii so'iie of those islands, 
too. Oh! I know the coast well enough. We were 
on our way to the Ar'tic Ocean then, after right 
whales." 

But, as a rule, people there seemed to have little 
interest in the army and it had made me feel as one 
apart. 

Gila City was our first camp; not exactly a city, to 
be sure, at that time, whatever it may be now. We 
were greeted by the sight of a few old adobe houses, 
and the usual saloon. I had ceased, however, to dwell 
upon such trifles as names. Even "Filibuster," the 
name of our next camp, elicited no remark from me. 

The weather was fine beyond description. Each 
day, at noon, we got out of the ambulance, and sat 
down on the warm white sand, by a little clump of 
mesquite, and ate our luncheon. Coveys of quail 
flew up and we shot them, thereby insuring a good 
supper. 

The mules trotted along contentedly on the smooth 
white road, which followed the south bank of the 
Gila River. Myriads of lizards ran out and looked at 
us. "Hello, here you are again," they seemed to say. 

The Gila Valley in December was quite a different 
thing from the Mojave desert in September; and 
although there was not much to see, in that low, flat 
country, yet we three were joyous and happy. 

Good health again was mine, the travelling was 
205 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

ideal, there were no discomforts, and I experienced 
no terrors in this part of Arizona. 

Each morning, when the tent was struck, and I 
sat on the camp-stool by the little heap of ashes, 
which was all that remained of what had been so 
pleasant a home for an afternoon and a night, a 
little lonesome feeling crept over me, at the thought of 
leaving the place. So strong is the instinct and love 
of home in some people, that the little tendrils shoot 
out in a day and weave themselves around a spot 
which has given them shelter. Such as those are 
not born to be nomads. 

Camps were made at Stanwix, Oatman's Flat, and 
Gila Bend. There we left the river, which makes a 
mighty loop at this point, and struck across the plains 
to Maricopa Wells. The last day's march took us 
across the Gila River, over the Maricopa desert, and 
brought us to the Salt River. We forded it at sun- 
down, rested our animals a half hour or so, and 
drove through the MacDowell canon in the dark of 
the evening, nine miles more to the post. A day's 
march of forty-five miles. (A relay of mules had 
been sent to meet us at the Salt River, but by some 
oversight, we had missed it.) 

Jack had told me of the curious cholla cactus, which 
is said to nod at the approach of human beings, and 
to deposit its barbed needles at their feet. Also I 
had heard stories of this deep, dark canon and things 
that had happened there. 

206 




Suwarro, Giant Cactus. Near Camp MacDowell, Arizona, 1877. 



UP THE VALLEY OF THE GILA 

Fort MacDowell was in Maricopa County, Arizona, 
on the Verde River, seventy miles or so south of 
Camp Verde; the roving bands of Indians, escaping 
from Camp Apache and the San Carlos reservation, 
which lay far to the east and southeast, often found 
secure hiding places in the fastnesses of the Super- 
stition Mountains and other ranges, which lay between 
old Camp MacDowell and these reservations. 

Hence, a company of cavalry and one of infantry 
were stationed at Camp MacDowell, and the officers 
and men of this small command were kept busy, 
scouting, and driving the renegades from out of this 
part of the country back to their reservations. It 
was by no means an idle post, as I found after I got 
there; the life at Camp MacDowell meant hard work, 
exposure and fatigue for this small body of men. 

As we wound our way through this deep, dark 
canon, after crossing the Salt River, I remembered 
the things I had heard, of ambush and murder. Our 
animals were too tired to go out of a walk, the night 
fell in black shadows down between those high 
mountain walls, the chollas, which are a pale sage- 
green color in the day-time, took on a ghastly hue. 
They were dotted here and there along the road, and 
on the steep mountain-sides. They grew nearly as 
tall as a man, and on each branch were great excres- 
cences which looked like people's heads, in the vague 
light which fell upon them. 

207 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

They nodded to us, and it made me shudder; they 
seemed to be something human. 

The soldiers were not partial to MacDowell canon ; 
they knew too much about the place; and we all 
breathed a sigh of relief when we emerged from this 
dark uncanny road and saw the lights of the post, 
lying low, long, flat, around a square. 

(208) 



CHAPTER XXV 

OLD CAMP MACDOWKLI/ 

Wk were expected, evidently, for as we drove along 
the road in front of the officers' quarters they all 
came out to meet us, and we received a great welcome. 

Captain Corliss of C company welcomed us to the 
post and to his company, and said he hoped I should 
like MacDowell better than I did Ehrenberg. Now 
Ehrenberg seemed years agone, and I could laugh at 
the mention of it. 

Supper was awaiting us at Captain Corliss's, and 
Mrs. Kendall, wife of Lieutenant Kendall, Sixth 
Cavalry, had, in Jack's absence, put the finishing 
touches to our quarters. So I went at once to a 
comfortable home, and life in the army began again 
for me. 

How good everything seemed ! There was Doctor 
Clark, whom I had met first at Ehrenberg, and who 
wanted to throw Patrocina and Jesusita into the 
Colorado. I was so glad to find him there ; he was 
such a good doctor, and we never had a moment's 
anxiety, as long as he staid at Camp MacDowell. Our 
confidence in him was unbounded. 

It was easy enough to obtain a man from the com- 
pany. There were then no hateful laws forbidding 
soldiers to work in officers' families ; no dreaded in-^ 

209 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

spectors, who put the flat question, "Do you employ 
a soldier for menial labor?" 

Captain Corliss gave me an old man by the name 
of Smith, and he was glad to come and stay with us 
and do what simple cooking we required. One of the 
laundresses let me have her daughter for nursery- 
maid, and our small establishment at Camp MacDowell 
moved on smoothly, if not with elegance. 

The officers' quarters were a long, low line of 
adobe buildings with no space between them ; the 
houses were separated only by .thick walls. In front, 
the windows looked out over the parade ground. In 
the rear, they opened out on a road which ran along 
the whole length, and on the other side of which lay 
another row of long, low buildings which were the 
kitchens, each set of quarters having its own. 

We occupied the quarters at the end of the row, 
and a large bay window looked out over a rather 
desolate plain, and across to the large and well-kept 
hospital. As all my draperies and pretty cretonnes 
had been burnt up on the ill-fated ship, I had nothing 
but bare white shades at the windows, and the rooms 
looked desolate enough. But a long divan w^as soon 
built, and some coarse yellow cotton bought at John 
Smith's (the sutler's) store, to cover it. My pretty 
rugs and mats were also gone, and there was only 
the old ingrain carpet from Fort Russell. The floors 
were adobe, and some men from the company came 
and laid down old canvas, then the carpet, and drove 

210 




Our Quarters at Old Camp MacDowell, Arizona, 18< 



OLD CAMP MACDOWELL 

in great spikes around the edge, to hold it down. 
The floors of the bedroom and dining-rootn were cov- 
ered with canvas in the same manner. Our furnish- 
ings were very scanty and I felt very mournful about 
the loss of the boxes. We could not claim restitution, 
as the steamship company had been courteous enough 
to take the boxes down free of charge. 

John Smith, the post trader (the name ''sutler" fell 
into disuse about now), kept a large store, but nothing 
that I could use to beautify my quarters with, — and 
our losses had been so heavy that we really could not 
afford to send back East for more things. My new 
white dresses came, and were suitable enough for the 
winter climate of MacDowell. But I missed the 
thousand and one accessories of a woman's wardrobe, 
the accumulation of years, the comfortable things 
vv^hich money could not buy, especially at that distance. 

I had never learned how to make dresses or to fit 
garments, and, although I knew how to sew, my 
accomplishments ran more in the line of outdoor 
sports. 

But Mrs. Kendall, whose experience in frontier life 
had made her self-reliant, lent me some patterns, 
and I bought some of John Smith's calico and went to 
work to make gowns suited to the hot weather. This 
was in 1877, and every one will remember tliat the 
ready-made house-gowns were not to be had in those 
days in the excellence and profusion in which they 
can to-day be found, in all parts of the country. 

211 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Now Mrs. Kendall was a tall, fine woman, much 
larger than I, but I used her patterns without altera- 
tions, and the result was something like a bag. They 
were freshly laundried and cool, however, and I did 
not place so much importance on the lines of them, 
as the young women of the present time do. To-day, 
the poorest farmer's wife in the wilds of Arkansas or 
Alaska can wear better fitting gowns than I wore then. 
But my riding habits, of which I had several kinds, 
to suit warm and cold countries, had been left in 
Jack's care at Ehrenberg, and as long as these fitted 
well, it did not so much matter about the gowns. 

Captain Chaffee, who commanded the company of 
the Sixth Cavalry stationed there, was away on leave, 
but Mr. Kendall, his first lieutenant, consented for 
me to exercise "Cochise," Captain Chaffee's Indian 
pony, and I had a royal time. 

Cavalry officers usually hate riding: that is, riding 
for pleasure; for they are in the saddle so much, 
for dead earnest work; but a young officer, a second 
lieutenant, not long out from the Academy, liked to 
ride, and we had many pleasant riding parties. Mr. 
Dravo and I rode one day to the Mormon settlement, 
seventeen miles away, on some business with the 
bishop, and a Mormon woman gave us a lunch of fried 
salt pork, potatoes, bread, and milk. How good it 
tasted, after our long ride ! and how we laughed about 
it all, and jollied, after the fashion of young people, 
all the way back to the post ! Mr, Dravo had also 

212 



OLD CAMP MACDOWELL 

lost all his things on the "Montana," and we sympa- 
thized greatly with each other. He, however, had 
sent an order home to Pennsylvania, duplicating all 
the contents of his boxes. I told him I could not 
duplicate mine, if I sent a thousand orders East. 

When, after some months, his boxes came, he 
brought me in a package, done up in tissue paper and 
tied with ribbon: "Mother sends you these; she 
wrote that I was not to open them ; I think she felt 
sorry for you, when I wrote her you had lost all your 
clothing. I suppose," he added, mustering his West 
Point French to the front, and handing me the pack- 
age, "it is what you ladies call 'lingerie.' " 

I hope I blushed, and I think I did, for I was not 
so very old, and I was touched by this sweet remem- 
brance from the dear mother back in Pittsburgh. And 
so many lovely things happened all the time; every- 
body was so kind to me. Mrs. Kendall and her young 
sister, Kate Taylor, Mrs. John Smith and I, were the 
only women that winter at Camp MacDowell. After- 
wards, Captain Corliss brought a bride to the post, 
and a new doctor took Doctor Clark's place. 

There were interminable scouts, wliicl] look both 
cavalry and infantry out of the post. We heard a 
great deal about "chasing Injuns" in the Superstition 
Mountains, and once a lieutenant of infantry went 
out to chase an escaping Indian Agent. 

Old Smith, my cook, was not very satisfactory; he 
drank a good deal, and I got very tired of the trouble 

213 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

he caused me. It was before the days of the canteen, 
and soldiers could get all the wliiskey they wanted 
at the trader's store ; and, it being generally the brand 
that was known in the army as "Forty rod," they got 
very drunk on it sometimes. I never had it in my 
heart to blame them much, poor fellows, for every 
human beings wants and needs some sort of recreation 
and jovial excitement. 

Captain Corliss said to Jack one day, in my pres- 
ence, "I had a fine batch of recruits come in this 
morning." 

"That's lovely," said I; "what kind of men are 
they? Any good cooks amongst them?" (for I was 
getting very tired of Smith). 

Captain Corliss smiled a grim smile. "What do 
you think the United States Government enlists men 
for?" said he; "do you think I want my company 
to be made up of dish-washers?" 

He was really quite angry with me, and I con- 
cluded that I had been too abrupt, in my eagerness 
for another man, and that my ideas on the subject 
were becoming warped. I decided that I must be 
more diplomatic in the future, in my dealings with 
the Captain of C company. 

The next day, when we went to breakfast, whom 
did we find in the dining-room but Bowen ! Our old 
Bowen of the long march across the Territory ! Of 
Camp Apache and K coirpany ! He had his white 

214 




Bowen, uur Faithful Soldier-Cook, 



OLD CAMP MACDOWELL 

apron on, his hair rohed back in his most fetching 
style, and was putting the coffee on the table. 

"But, Bowen," said I, ''where — how on earth — did 
you — how did you know we — what does it mean?" 

Bowen saluted the First Lieutenant 6f C company, 
and said: "Well, sir, the fact is, my time was ouL, 
and I thought I would quit. I went to San Fran- 
cisco and worked in a miners' restaurant" (here he 
hesitated), "but I didn't like it, and I tried some- 
thing else, and lost all my money, and I got tired of 
the town, so I thought I'd take on again, and as I 
knowed ye's were in C company now, I thought I'd 
come to MacDowell, and I came over here this morn- 
ing and told old Smith he'd better quit; this was my 
job, and here I arm, and I hope yc're all well — and the 
little boy?" 

Here was loyalty indeed, and here was Bowen the 
Immortal, back again! 

And now things ran smoothly once more. Roasts 
of beef and haunches of venison, ducks and other 
good things we had through the winter. 

It was cool enough to wear white cotton dresses, but 
nothing heavier. It never rained, and the climate 
was superb, although it was always hot in the sun. 
We had heard that • it was very hot here ; in fact, 
people called MacDowell by very bad names. As the 
spring came on, we began to realize that the epithets 
applied to it might be quite appropriate. 

215 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

In front of our quarters was a ramdda,'^ supported 
by rude poles of the cottonwood tree. Then came the 
sidewalk, and the aceqiiia (ditch), then a row of 
young cottonwood trees, then the parade ground. 
Through the acequia ran the clear water that supplied 
the post, and under the shade of the ramddas, hung 
the large ollas from which we dipped the drinking 
water, for as yet, of course, ice was not even dreamed 
of in the far plains of MacDowell. The heat became 
intense, as the summer approached. To sleep inside 
the house was impossible, and we soon followed the 
example of the cavalry, who had their beds out on the 
parade ground. 

Two iron cots, therefore, were brought from the 
hospital, and placed side by side in front of our 
quarters, beyond the acequia and the cottonwood trees, 
in fact, out in the open space of the parade ground. 
Upon these were laid some mattresses and sheets, and 
after "taps" had sounded, and lights were out, we 
retired to rest. Near the cots stood Harry's crib. 
We had not thought about the ants, however, and they 
swarmed over our beds, driving us into the house. 
The next morning Bowen placed a tin can of water 
under each point of contact ; and as each cot had eight 
legs, and the crib had four, twenty cans were neces- 
sary. He had not taken the trouble to remove the 
labels, and the pictures of red tomatoes glared at us 



*A sort of rude iiwiiing made of brusli and supported by 
cottonwood poles. 

2l6 



OLD CAMP MACDOWELIv 

in the hot sun through the day; they did not look 
poetic, but our old enemies, the ants, were outwitted. 

There was another species of tiny insect, however, 
which seemed to drop from the little cotton-wood 
trees which grew at the edge of the acequia, and 
myriads of them descended and crawled all over us, 
so we had to have our beds moved still farther out 
on to the open space of the parade ground. 

And now we were fortified against all the veno- 
mous creeping things and we looked forward to bliss- 
ful nights of rest. 

We did not look along the line, when we retired to 
our cots, but if we had, we should have seen shadowy 
figures, laden with pillows, flying from the houses to 
the cots or vice versa. It was certainly a novel 
experience. 

With but a sheet for a covering, there we lay, 
looking up at the starry heavens. I watched the 
Great Bear go around, and other constellations and 
seemed to come into close touch with Nature and the 
mysterious night. But the melancholy solemnity of 
my communings was much affected by the howling of 
the coyotes, which seemed sometimes to be so near 
that I jumped to the side of the crib, to see if my 
little boy was being carried off. The good sweet 
slumber which I craved never came to me in those 
weird Arizona nights under the stars. 

At about midnight, a sort of dewy coolness would 
come down from the sky, and we could then sleep a 

217 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

little; but the sun rose incredibly early in that 
southern country, and by the crack of dawn sheeted 
figures were to be seen darting back into the quarters, 
to try for another nap. The nap rarely came to 
any of us, for the heat of the houses never passed 
ofif, day or night, at that season. After an early 
breakfast, the long day began again. 

The question of what to eat came to be a serious 
one. We experimented with all sorts of tinned foods, 
and tried to produce some variety from them, but it 
was all rather tiresome. We almost dreaded the visits 
of the Paymaster and the Inspector at that season, as 
we never had anything in the house to give them. 

One hot night, at about ten o'clock, we heard the 
rattle of wheels, and an ambulance drew up at our 
door. Out jumped Colonel Biddle, Inspector Gen- 
eral, from Fort Whipple. "What shall I give him 
to eat, poor hungry man?" I thought. I looked in 
the wire-covered safe, w^hich hung outside the kitchen, 
and discovered half a beefsteak-pie. The gallant 
Colonel declared that if there was one thing above all 
others that he liked, it was cold beefsteak-pie. Lieu- 
tenant Thomas of the Fifth Cavalry echoed his senti- 
ments, and with a bottle of Cocomonga, vrhich was 
always kept cooling somewhere, they had a merry 
supper. 

These visits broke the monotony of our life at Camp 
MacDowell. We heard of the gay doings up at Fort 
Whipple, and of the lovely climate there. 

218 



OLD CAMP MACDOWELL 

Mr. Thomas said he could not understand why we 
wore such hags of dresses. 1 told him spitefully that 
if the women of Fort Whipple would come down to 
MacDowell to spend the suinmer, they w^ould soon 
be able to explain it to him. I began to feel em- 
barrassed at the fit of my house-gowns. After a 
few days spent with us, however, the mercury rang- 
ing from 104 to 120 degrees in the shade, he ceased 
to comment upon our dresses or our customs. 

I had a glass jar of butter sent over from the 
Commissary, and asked Colonel Biddle if he thought 
it right that such butter as that should be bought 
by the purchasing officer in San Francisco. It had 
melted, and separated into layers of dead white, deep 
orange and pinkish-purple colors. Ihus I, too, as 
well as General Miles, had my turn at trying to re- 
form the Commissary Department of Uncle Sam's 
army. 

Hammocks were swung under the ramddas, and 
after luncheon everybody tried a siesta. Then, near 
sundown, an ambulance came and took us over to 
the Verde River, about a mile away, where wc bathed 
in water almost as thick as that of the Great Colorado. 
We taught Mrs. Kendall to swim, but Mr. Kendall, 
being an inland man, did not take to the water. 
Now the Verde River was not a very good substitute 
for the sea, and the thick water filled our ears and 
mouths, but it gave us a little half hour in the day 
when we could experience a feeling of being cool, and 

219 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

we found it worth while to take the trouble. Thick 
clumps of mesquite trees furnished us with dressing- 
rooms. We were all young, and youth requires so 
little with which to make merry. 

After the meagre evening dinner, the Kendalls and 
ourselves sat together under the ramdda until taps, 
listening generally to the droll anecdotes told by Mr. 
Kendall, who had an inexliaustible fund. Then an- 
other night under the stars, and so passed the time 
away. 

We lived, ate, slept by the bugle calls. Reveille 
means sunrise, when a Lieutenant must hasten to put 
himself into uniform, sword and belt, and go out to 
receive the report of the company or companies of 
soldiers, who stand drawn up in line on the parade 
ground. 

At about nine o'clock in the morning comes the 
guard-mount, a function always which everybody goes 
out to see. Then the various drill calls, and re- 
calls^ and sick-call and the beautiful stable-call for the 
cavalry, when the horses are groomed and watered, 
the thrilling fire-call and the startling assembly, or 
call-to-arms, when every soldier jumps for his rifle 
and every officer buckles on his sword, and a 
woman's heart stands still. 

Then at night, ''tattoo," when the company officers 
go out to receive the report of ''all present and ac- 
counted for" — and shortly after that, the mournful 
"taps," a signal for the barrack lights to be put out. 

220 



OLD CAMP MACDOWELL 

The bugle call of ''taps" is mournful also through 
association, as it is always blown over the grave of 
a soldier or an officer, after the coffin has been lowered 
into the earth. The soldier-musicians who blow the 
calls, seem to love the call of "taps," (strangely 
enough) and I remember well that there at Camp 
MacDowell, we all used to go out and listen when 
"taps went," as the soldier who blew it, seemed to 
put a whole world of sorrow into it, turning to the 
four points of the compass and letting its clear tones 
tremble through the air, away off across the Maricopa 
desert and then toward the East, our home so far 
away. We never spoke, we just listened, and who 
can tell the thoughts that each one had in his mind? 
Church nor ministers nor priests had we there in 
those distant lands, but can we say that our lives 
were wholly without religion? 

The Sunday inspection of men and barracks, which 
was performed v/ith much precision and formality, 
and often in full dress uniform, gave us something 
by which we could mark the weeks, as they slipped 
along. There was no religious service of any kind, as 
Uncle Sam did not seem to think that the souls of 
us people in the outposts needed looking after. It 
would have afforded much comfort to the Roman 
Catholics had there been a priest stationed there. 

The only sermon I ever heard in old Camp Mac- 
Dowell was delivered by a Mormon Bishop and was 
of a rather preposterous nature, neither instructive 

221 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

nor edifying. But the good Catholics read their 
prayer-books at home, and the rest of us ahnost for- 
got that such organizations as churches existed. 

Another bright winter found us still gazing at the 
Four Peaks of the MacDowell Mountains, the only 
landmark on the horizon. I was glad, in those days, 
that I had not staid back East, for the life of an 
officer without his family, in those drear places, is 
indeed a blank and empty one. 

''Four years I have sat here and looked at the Four 
Peaks," said Captain Corliss, one day, "and I'm get- 
ting almighty tired of it." 

(222) 



CHAPTER XXVI 

A SUDDEN ORDKR 

In June, 1878, Jack was ordered to report to the 
commanding officer at Fort Lowell (near the ancient 
city of Tucson), to act as Quartermaster and Commis- 
sary at that post. This was a sudden and totally 
unexpected order. It was indeed hard, and it seemed 
to me cruel. For our regiment had been four years 
in the Territory, and we were reasonably sure of 
being ordered out before long. Tucson lay far to the 
south of us, and was even hotter than this place. But 
tiiere was nothing to be done; we packed up, I with 
a heavy heart, Jack with his customary stoicism. 

With the grief which comes only at that time in 
one's life, and which sees no end and no limit, I 
parted from my friends at Camp MacDowell. Two 
years together, in the most intimate companionship, 
cut off from the outside world, and away from all 
early ties, had united us with indissoluble bonds, — 
and now we were to part, — forever as I thought. 

We all wept; I embraced them all, and Jack lifted 
me into the ambulance ; Mrs. Kendall gave a last kiss 
to our little boy ; Donahue, our soldier-driver, loosened 
up his brakes, cracked his long whip, and away we 
went, down over the flat, through the dark MacDowell 
cafion, with the chollas nodding to us as we passed, 

223 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

across the Salt River, and on across an open desert 
to Florence, forty miles or so to the southeast of us. 

At Florence we sent our military transportation 
back and staid over a day at a tavern to rest. We 
met there a very agreeable and cultivated gentleman, 
Mr. Charles Poston, who was eji route to his home, 
somewhere in the mountains near by. We took the 
Tucson stage at sundown, and travelled all night. 
I heard afterwards more about Mr. Poston: he had 
attained some reputation in the literary world by 
writing about the Sun-worshippers of Asia. He had 
been a great traveller in his early life, but now had 
built himself some sort of a house in one of the 
desolate mountains which rose out of these vast plains 
of Arizona, hoisted his sun-flag on the top, there to 
pass the rest of his days. People out there said he 
was a sun-worshipper. I do not know. ''But when I 
am tired of life and people," I thought, "this will not 
be the place I shall choose." 

Arriving at Tucson, after a hot and tiresome night 
in the stage, we went to an old hostelry. Tucson 
looked attractive. Ancient civilization is always in- 
teresting to me. 

Leaving me at the tavern, my husband drove out 
to Fort Lowell, to see about quarters and things in 
general. In a few hours he returned with the over- 
whelming news that he found a dispatch awaiting him 
at that post, ordering him to return immediately to 
his company at Camp MacDowell, as the Eighth In- 

224 



A SUDDEN ORDER 

fantry was ordered to the Department of California. 

Ordered "out" at last! I felt like jumping up 
onto the table, climbing onto the roof, dancing and 
singing and shouting for joy! Tired as we were (and 
I thought I had reached the limit), we were not too 
tired to take the first stage back for Florence, which 
left that evening. Those two nights on the Tucson 
stage are a blank in my memory. I got through them 
somehow. 

In the morning, as we approached the town of 
Florence, the great blue army wagon containing our 
household goods, hove in sight — its white canvas cover 
stretched over hoops, its six sturdy mules coming 
along at a good trot, and Sergeant vStone cracking his 
long whip, to keep up a proper pace in the eyes of 
the Tucson stage-driver. 

Jack called him to halt, and down went the Ser- 
geant's big brakes. Both teams came to a stand-still, 
and we told the Sergeant the news. Bewilderment, 
surprise, joy, followed each other on the old Sergeant's 
countenance. He turned his heavy team about, and 
promised to reach Camp MacDowell as soon as the 
animals could make it. At Florence, we left the stage, 
and went to the little tavern once more; the stage- 
route did not lie in our direction, so we must hire a 
private conveyance to bring us to Camp MacDowell. 
Jack found a man who had a good pair of ponies and 
an open buckboard. Towards night we set forth to 

225 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

cross the plain which Hes between Florence and the 
Salt River, due northwest by the map. 

When I saw the driver I did not care much for his 
appearance. He did not inspire me with confidence, 
but the ponies looked strong, and we had forty or 
fifty miles before us. 

After we got fairly into the desert, which was a 
trackless waste, I became possessed by a feeling that 
the man did not know the way. He talked a good 
deal about the North Star, and the fork in the road, 
and that we must be sure not to miss it. 

It was a still, hot, starlit night. Jack and the 
driver sat on the front seat. They had taken the back 
seat out, and my little boy and I sat in the bottom of 
the wagon, with the hard cushions to lean against 
through the night. I suppose we were drowsy with 
sleep; at all events, the talk about the fork of the 
road and the North Star faded away into dreams. 

I awoke with a chilly feeling, and a sudden jolt over 
a rock. "I do not recollect any rocks on this road, 
Jack, when we came over it in the ambulance," said I. 

''Neither do I," he replied. 

I looked for the North Star: I had looked for it 
often when in open boats. It was away off on our 
left, the road seemed to be ascending and rocky : I had 
never seen this piece of road before, that I was sure of. 

"We are going to the eastward," said I, ''and we 
should be going northwest." 

"My dear, lie down and go to sleep ; the man knows 
226 



A SUDDEN ORDER 

the road; he is taking a short cut, I suppose," said 
the Lieutenant. There was something not at all re- 
assuring in his tones, however. 

The driver did not turn his head nor speak. I 
looked at the North Star, which was getting farther 
and farther on our left, and I felt the gloomy con- 
viction that we were lost on the desert. 

Finally, at daylight, after going higher and higher, 
we drew up in an old deserted mining-camp. 

The driver jerked his ponies up, and, with a sullen 
gesture, said, "We must have missed the fork of the 
road ; this is Picket Post/' 

"Great Heavens!" I cried; *'how far out of the 
way are we?" 

''About fifteen miles," he drawled, "you see we 
shall have to go back to the place where the road 
forks, and make a new start." 

I nearly collapsed with discouragement. I looked 
around at the ruined walls and crumbling pillars of 
stone, so weird and so grey in the dawning light: 
it might have been a worshipping place of the Druids. 
My little son shivered with the light chill which comes 
at daybreak in those tropical countries : we were 
hungry and tired and miserable : my bones ached, and 
I felt like crying. 

We gave the poor ponies time to breathe, and took 
a bite of cold food ourselves. 
Ah ! that blighted and desolate place called Picket 
227 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Post ! Forsaken by God and man, it might have 
been the entrance to Hades. 

Would the ponies hold out? Thc)^ looked jaded 
to be sure, but we had stopped long enough to breathe 
them, and away they trotted again, down the moun- 
tain this time, instead of up. 

It was broad day when we reached the fork of the 
road, which we had not been able to see in the night: 
there was no mistaking it now. 

We had travelled already about forty miles, thirty 
more lay before us; but there were no hills, it was 
all flat country, and the owner of these brave little 
ponies said we could make it. 

As we neared the MacDowell canon, we met Captain 
Corliss marching out with his company (truly they 
had lost no time in starting for California), and he 
told his First Lieutenant he would make slow marches, 
that we might overtake him before he reached Yuma. 

We were obliged to wait at Camp MacDowell for 
Sergeant Stone to arrive with our wagonful of house- 
hold goods, and then, after a mighty weeding out and 
repacking, we set forth once more, with a good team 
of mules and a good driver, to join the command. We 
bade the Sixth Cavalry people once more good-bye, 
but I was so nearly dead by this time, with the heat, 
and the fatigue of all this hard travelling and packing 
up, that the keener edge of my emotions was dulled. 
Bight days and nights spent in travelling hither and 

228 



A SUDDEN ORDER 

thither over those hot plains in Southern Arizona, 
and all for what? 

Because somebody in ordering somebody to change 
his station, had forgotten that somebody's regiment 
was about to be ordered out of the country it had 
been in for four years. Also because my husband was 
a soldier who obeyed orders without questioning them. 
If he had been a political wire-puller, many of our 
misfortunes might have been averted. But tlien, 
while I half envied the wives of the wire-pullers, I 
took a sort of pride in the blind obedience shown by 
my own particular soldier to the orders he received. 

After that week's experience, I held another col- 
loquy with myself, and decided that wives should not 
follow their husbands in the army, and that if I ever 
got back East again, I would stay: I simply could 
not go on enduring these unmitigated and unreason- 
able hardships. 

The Florence man staid over at the post a day or so 
to rest his ponies. I bade him good-bye and told him 
to take care of those brave little beasts, which had 
travelled seventy miles without rest, to bring us to 
our destination. He nodded pleasantly and drove 
away. "A queer customer," I observed to Jack. 

'*Yes," answered he, "they told me in Florence 
that he was a 'road agent' and desperado, but there 
did not seem to be anyone else, and my orders were 
peremptory, so I took him. I knew the ponies could 
pull us through, by the looks of them; and road 

229 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

agents are all right with army officers, they know 
they wouldn't get anything if they held 'em up." 

"How much did he charge you for the trip?" I 
asked. 

"Sixteen dollars," was the reply. And so ended 
the episode. Except that I looked back to Picket 
Post with a sort of horror, I thought no more about it. 

(230) 



CHAPTER XXVII 

THE EIGHTH I^OOT LEAVES ARIZONA 

And now after the eight days of most distressing 
heat, and the fatigue of all sorts and varieties of 
travelling, the nights spent in a stage-coach or at a 
desert inn, or in the road agent's buckboard, holding 
always my little son close to my side, came six days 
more of journeying down the valley of the Gila. 

We took supper in Phoenix, at a place known as 
"Devine's." I was hearing a good deal about 
Phoenix; for even then, its gardens, its orchards and 
its climate were becoming famous, but the season of 
the year was unpropitious to form a favorable opinion 
of that thriving place, even if my opinions of Arizona, 
with its parched-up soil and insufferable heat, had not 
been formed already. 

We crossed the Gila somewhere below there, and 
stopped at our old camping places, but the entire 
valley was seething hot, and the remembrance of the 
December journey seemed but an aggravating dream. 

We joined Captain Corliss and the company at 
Antelope Station, and in two more days were at 
Yuma City. By this time, the Southern Pacific 
Railroad had been built as far as Yuma, and a bridge 
thrown across the Colorado at this point. It seemed 

231 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

an incongruity. And how burning hot the cars 
looked, standing there in the Arizona sun ! 

After four years in that Territory, and remember- 
ing the days, weeks, and even months spent in travel- 
Hng on the river, or marching through the deserts, 
I could not make the Pullman cars seem a reality. 

We brushed the dust of the Gila Valley from our 
clothes, I unearthed a hat from somewhere, and some 
wraps which had not seen the light for nearly two 
years, and prepared to board the train. 

I cried out in my mind, the prayer of the woman in 
one of Fisher's Ehrenberg stories, to which I used to 
listen with unmitigated delight, when I lived there. 
The story was this : "Mrs. Blank used to live here in 
Ehrenberg ; she hated the place just as you do, but she 
was obliged to stay. Finally, after a period of two 
years, she and her sister, w^ho had lived with her, were 
able to get away. I crossed over the river with them 
to Lower California, on the old rope ferry-boat which 
they used to have near Ehrenberg, and as soon as the 
boat touched the bank, they jumped ashore, and down 
they both wxnt upon their knees, clasped their hands, 
raised their eyes to Heaven, and Mrs. Blank said: 'I 
thank Thee, oh Lord ! Thou hast at last delivered us 
from the wilderness, and brought us back to God's 
country. Receive my thanks, oh Lord !' " 

And then Fisher used to add: "And the tears 
rolled down their faces, and I knew they felt every 
word they spoke; and I guess you'll feel about the 

232 




O 

PQ 

S3 
O 



THE EIGHTH FOOT LEAVES ARIZONA 

same way when you get out of Arizona, even if you 
don't quite drop on your knees," he said. 

The soldiers did not look half so picturesque, climb- 
ing into the cars, as they did when loading onto a 
barge; and when the train went across the bridge, 
and we looked down upon the swirling red waters of 
the Great Colorado from the windows of a luxurious 
Pullman, I sighed; and, with the strange contradic- 
toriness of the human mind, I felt sorry that the old 
days had come to an end. For, somehow, the hard- 
ships and deprivations which we have endured, lose 
their bitterness when they have become only a memory. 

(233) 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

CAI^IFORNIA AND NE^VADA 

A PORTION of our regiment was ordered to Oregon, 
to join General Howard, who was conducting the 
Bannock Campaign, so I remained that summer in 
San Francisco, to await my husband's return. 

I could not break away from my Arizona habits. 
I wore only white dresses, partly because I had no 
others which were in fashion, partly because I had 
become imbued with a profound indifference to dress. 

"They'll think you're a Mexican," said my New 
England aunt (who regarded all foreigners with con- 
tempt). "Let them think," said I; "I almost wish 
I were; for, after all, they are the only people who 
understand the philosophy of living. Look at the 
tired faces of the women in your streets," I added, 
"one never sees that sort of expression down below, 
and I have made up my mind not to be caught by 
the whirlpool of advanced civilization again." 

Added to the white dresses, I smoked cigarettes, 
and slept all the afternoons. I was in the bondage 
of tropical customs, and I had lapsed back into a state 
of what my aunt called semi-barbarism. 

"Let me enjoy this heavenly cool climate, and do 
not worry me," I begged. I shuddered when I heard 
people complain of the cold winds of the San Fran- 

234 



CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA 

CISCO summer. How do they dare tempt Fate, thought 
I, and I wished them all in Ehrenberg or MacDowell 
for one summer. ''I think they might then know 
something about climate, and would have something 
to complain about !" 

How I revelled in the flowers, and all the luxuries 
of that delightful city! 

The headquarters of the Eighth was located at 
Benicia, and General Kautz, our Colonel, invited me 
to pay a visit to his wife. A pleasant boat-trip up 
the Sacramento River brought us to Benicia. Mrs. 
Kautz, a handsome and accomplished Austrian, pre- 
sided over her lovely army home in a manner to 
captivate my fancy, and the luxury of their sur- 
roundings almost made me speechless. 

"The other side of army life," thought I. 

A visit to Angel Island, one of the harbor defences, 
strengthened this impression. Four years of life in 
the southern posts of Arizona had almost made me 
believe that army life was indeed but "glittering 
misery," as 'the Germans had called it. 

In the autumn, the troops returned from Oregon, 
and C company was ordered to Camp MacDermit, a 
lonely spot up in the northern part of Nevada 
(Nevada being included in the Department of Cali- 
fornia). I was sure by that time that bad luck was 
pursuing us. I did not know so much about the "ins 
and outs" of the army then as I do now. 

235 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

At my aunt's suggestion, I secured a Chinaman of 
good caste for a servant, and by deceiving him (also 
my aunt's advice) with the idea that we were going 
only as far as Sacramento, succeeded in making him 
willing to accompany us. 

We started east, and left the railroad at a station 
called *'Winnemucca." MacDermit lay ninety miles 
to the north. But at Winnemucca the Chinaman 
balked. ''You say : 'AU'e same Saclamento' : lis 
place heap too far: me no likee!" I talked to him, 
and, being a good sort, he saw that I meant well, and 
the soldiers bundled him on top of the army wagon, 
gave him a lot of good-natured guying, and a revolver 
to keep off Indians, and so we secured Hoo Chack. 

Captain Corliss had been obliged to go on ahead 
with his wife, who was in the most delicate health. 
The post ambulance had met them at this place. 

Jack was to march over the ninety miles, with the 
company. I watched them starting out, the men, 
glad of the release from the railroad train, their guns 
on their shoulders, stepping off in military style and 
in good form. 

The wagons followed — the big blue army wagons, 
and Hoo Chack, looking rather glum, sitting on top of 
a pile of baggage. 

I took the Silver City stage, and except for my little 
boy I was the only passenger for the most of the way. 
We did the ninety miles without resting over,, except 
for relays of horses. 

29J0 



CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA 

I climbed up on the box and talked with the driver. 
I liked these stage-drivers. They were "nervy," 
fearless men, and kind, too, and had a great dash and 
go about them. They often had a quiet and gentle 
bearing, but by that time I knew pretty well what 
sort of stuff they were made of, and I liked to have 
them talk to me, and I liked to look out upon the world 
through their eyes, and judge of things from their 
standpoint. 

It was an easy journey, and we passed a comfortable 
night in the stage. 

Camp MacDermit was a colorless, forbidding sort 
of a place. Only one company was stationed there, 
and my husband was nearly always scouting in the 
mountains north of us. The weather was severe, and 
the winter there was joyless and lonesome. The ex- 
treme cold and the loneliness affected my spirits, and 
I suffered from depression. 

I had no woman to talk to, for Mrs. Corliss, who 
was the only other officer's wife at the post, was con- 
fined to the house by the most delicate health, and her 
mind was wholly absorbed by the care of her young 
infant. There were no nurses to be had in that deso- 
late corner of the earth. 

One day, a dreadful looking man appeared at the 
door, a person such as one never sees except on the 
outskirts of civilization, and I wondered what busi- 
ness brought him. He wore a long, black, greasy 
frock coat, a tall hat, and had the face of a sneak. 

^Z7 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

He wanted the Chinaman's poll-tax, he said. 

*'But," I suggested, ''I never heard of collecting 
taxes in a Government post; soldiers and officers do 
not pay taxes." 

"That may be," he replied, "but your Chinaman 
is not a soldier, and I am going to have his tax 
before I leave this house." 

"So, ho," I thought; "a threat!" and the soldier's 
blood rose in me. 

I was alone ; Jack was miles away up North. Hoo 
Chack appeared in the hall; he had evidently heard 
the man's last remark. "Now," I said, "this China- 
man is in my employ, and he shall not pay any tax, 
until I find out if he be exempt or not." 

The evil-looking man approached the Chinaman. 
Hoo Chack grew a shade paler. I fancied he had a 
knife under his white shirt ; in fact, he felt around 
for it. I said, "Hoo Chack, go away, I will talk to 
this man." 

I opened the front door. "Come with me" (to the 
tax-collector) ; "we will ask the commanding officer 
about this matter." My heart was really in my 
mouth, but I returned the man's steady and dogged 
gaze, and he followed me to Captain Corliss' quarters. 
I explained the matter to the Captain, and left the 
man to his mercy. "\\^h3^ didn't you call the Sergeant 
of the Guard, and have the man slapped into the 
guard-house?" said Jack, when I told him about it 
afterwards. "The man had no business around here ; 

238 



CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA 

he was trying to browbeat you into giving him a 
dollar, I suppose." 

The country above us was full of desperadoes from 
Boise and Silver City, and I was afraid to be left 
alone so much at night; so I begged Captain Corliss 
to let me have a soldier to sleep in my quarters. He 
sent me old Needham. So I installed old Needham in 
my guest chamber with his loaded rifle. Now old 
Needham was but a wisp of a man; long years of 
service had broken down his health ; he was all wizened 
up and feeble ; but he was a soldier; I felt safe, and 
could sleep once more. Just the sight of Needham 
and his old blue uniform coming at night, after taps, 
was a comfort to me. 

Anxiety filled my soul, for Jack was scouting in 
the Stein Mountains all winter in the snow, after 
Indians who were avowedly hostile, and had threat- 
ened to kill on sight. He often went out with a small 
pack-train, and some Indian scouts, five or six soldiers, 
and I thought it quite wrong for him to be sent into 
the mountains with so small a number. 

Camp MacDermit was, as I have already men- 
tioned, a "one-company post." We all know what 
that may mean, on the frontier. Our Second Lieu- 
tenant was absent, and all the hard work of winter 
scouting fell upon Jack, keeping him away for weeks 
at a time. 

The Piute Indians were supposed to be peaceful, 
and their old chief, Winnemucca, once the warlike 

239 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

and dreaded foe of the white man, was now quiet 
enough, and too old to fight. He Hved, with his 
family, at an Indian village near the post. 

He came to see me occasionally. His dress was a 
curious mixture of civilization and savager3^ He 
wore the chapeau and dress-coat of a General of the 
American Army, with a large epaulette on one shoul- 
der. He was very proud of the coat, because General 
Crook had given it to him. His shirt, leggings and 
moccasins were of buckskin, and the long braids of his 
coal-black hair, tied with strips of red flannel, gave 
the last touch to this incongruous costume. 

But I must say that his demeanor was gentle and 
dignified, and, after recovering from the superficial 
impressions which his startling costume had at first 
made upon my mind, I could well believe that he had 
once been the war-leader, as he was now the political 
head of his once-powerful tribe. 

Winnemucca did not disdain to accept some little 
sugar-cakes from me, and would sit down on our 
veranda and munch them. 

He always showed me the pasteboard medal which 
hung around his neck, and which bore General 
Howard's signature; and he always said: "General 
Howard tell me, me good Injun, me go up — up — 
up" — pointing dramatically towards Heaven. On 
one occasion, feeling desperate for amusement, I said 
to him : ''General Howard very good man, but he 
make a mistake; where you go, is not up — up — up, 

240 



CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA 

but," pointing solemnly to the earth below us, ''clown 
— down — down." He looked incredulous, but I as- 
sured him it was a nice place down there. 

Some of the scattered bands of the tribe, however, 
were restless and unsubdued, and gave us much 
trouble, and it was these bands that necessitated the 
scouts. 

My little son, Harry, four years old, was my con- 
stant and only companion, during that long, cold, and 
anxious winter. 

My mother sent me an appealing invitation to come 
home for a year. I accepted gladly, and one after- 
noon in May, Jack put us aboard the Silver City 
stage, which passed daily through the post. 

Our excellent Chinese servant promised to stay 
with the ''Captain" and take care of him, and as I 
said "Good-bye, Hoo Chack," I noticed an expression 
of real regret on his usually stolid features. 

Occupied with my thoughts, on entering the stage, 
I did not notice the passengers or the man sitting next 
me on the back seat. Darkness soon closed around us, 
and I suppose we fell asleep. Between naps, I heard 
a queer clanking sound, but supposed it was the 
chains of the harness or the stage-coach gear. The 
next morning, as we got out at a relay station for 
breakfast, I saw the handcuffs on the man next to 
whom I had sat all the night long. The sheriff was 
on the box outside. He very obligingly changed seats 
with me for the rest of the way, and evening found 

241 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

us on the overland train speeding on our journey East. 
Camp MacDermit with its dreary associations and 
surroundings faded gradually from my mind, like a 
dream. 



The year of 1879 brought us several changes. My 
little daughter was born in mid-summer at our old 
home in Nantucket. As I lay watching the curtains 
move gently to and fro in the soft sea-breezes, and 
saw my mother and sister moving about the room, and 
a good old nurse rocking my baby in her arms, I 
could but think of those other days at Camp Apache, 
when I lay through the long hours, with my new-born 
baby by my side, watching, listening for some one 
to come in. There was no one, no woman to come, 
except the poor hard-working laundress of the cavalry, 
who did come once a day to care for the baby. 

Ah! what a contrast! and I had to shut my eyes 
for fear I should cry, at the mere thought of those 
other days. 

********** 

Jack took a year's leave of absence and joined me 
in the autumn at Nantucket, and the winter was spent 
in New York, enjoying the theatres and various 
amusements we had so long been deprived of. Here 
we met again Captain Porter and Carrie Wilkins, 
who was now Mrs. Porter. They were stationed at 
David's Island, one of the harbor posts, and we went 

2/1 3 



CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA 

over to see them. "Yes," he said, "as Jacob waited 
seven years for Rachel, so I waited for Carrie." 

The following summer brought us the good news 
that Captain Corliss' company was ordered to Angel 
Island, in the bay of San Francisco. "Thank good- 
ness," said Jack, "C company has got some good luck, 
at last!" 

Joyfully we started back on the overland trip to 
California, which took about nine days at that time. 
Now, travelling with a year-old baby and a five-year- 
old boy was quite troublesome, and we were very 
glad when the train had crossed the bleak Sierras and 
swept down into the lovely valley of the Sacramento. 

Arriving in San Francisco, we went to the old 
Occidental Hotel, and as we were going in to dinner, a 
card was handed to us. "Hoo Chack" was the name 
on the card. "That Chinaman !" I cried to Jack. 
"How do you suppose he knew we were here?" 

We soon made arrangements for him to accompany 
us to Angel Island, and in a few days this "heathen 
Chinee" had unpacked all our boxes and made our 
quarters very comfortable. He was rather a high- 
caste man, and as true and loyal as a Christian. He 
never broke his word, and he staid with us as long as 
w^e remained in California. 

And now we began to live, to truly live; for we 
felt that the years spent at those desert posts under 
the scorching suns of Arizona had cheated us out of 
all but a bare existence upon earth. 

243 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

The flowers ran riot in our garden, fresh fruits and 
vegetables, fresh fish, and all the luxuries of that 
marvellous climate, were brought to our door. 

A comfortable Government steamboat plied between 
San Francisco and its harbor posts, and the distance 
was not great — only three quarters of an hour. So 
we had a taste of the social life of that fascinating 
city, and could enjoy the theatres also. 

On the Island, we had music and dancing, as it 
was the headquarters of the regiment. Mrs. Kautz, 
so brilliant and gay, held grand court here — recep- 
tions, military functions, lawn tennis, bright uniforms, 
were the order of the day. And that incomparable 
climate ! How I revelled in it ! When the fog rolled 
in from the Golden Gate, and enveloped the great 
city of Saint Francis in its cold vapors, the Island of 
the Angels lay warm and bright in the sunshine. 

The old Spaniards named it well, and the old Nan- 
tucket whalers who sailed around Cape Horn on their 
way to the Ar'tic, away back in the eighteen twenties, 
used to put in near there for water, and were well 
familiar with its bright shores, before it was touched 
by man's handiwork. 

Was there ever such an emerald green as adorned 
those hills which sloped down to the bay ? Could any- 
thing equal the fields of golden escholzchia which lay 
there in the sunshine? Or the blue masses of "baby- 
eye," which opened in the mornings and held up their 
pretty cups to catch the dew? 

244 



Lt. C. P. Terrett, 8th Inf. Lt. Bingham, 9th Cav. 

Major Wilhelm, 8th Inf. Lt. Phil. Reade. 

Lt. Charley Bailey, 8th Inf. 



CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA 

Was this a real Paradise? 

It surely seemed so to us; and, as if Nature had 
not done enough, the Fates stepped in and sent all 
the agreeable young officers of the regiment there, to 
help us enjoy the heavenly spot. 

There was Terrett, the handsome and aristocratic 
young Baltimorean, one of the finest men I ever saw 
in uniform ; and Richardson, the stalwart Texan, and 
man}^ others, with whom we danced and played tennis, 
and altogether there was so much to do and to enjoy 
that Time rushed by and we knew only that we were 
happy, and enchanted with Life. 

Did any uniform ever equal that of the infantry in 
those days? The dark blue, heavily braided "blouse," 
the white stripe on the light blue trousers, the jaunty 
cap? And then, the straight backs and the slim lines 
of those youthful figures ! It seems to me any woman 
who was not an Egyptian mummy would feel her 
heart thrill and her blood tingle at the sight of them. 

Indians and deserts and Ehrenberg did not exist 
for me any more. My girlhood seemed to have re- 
turned, and I enjoyed everything with the keenest 
zest. 

My old friend Charley Bailey, who had married 
for his second wife a most accomplished young San 
Francisco girl, lived next door to us. 

General and Mrs. Kautz entertained so hospitably, 
and were so beloved by all. Together Mrs. Kautz 
and I read the German classics, and went to the 

245 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

German theatre; and by and by a very celebrated 
player, Friedrich Haase, from the Royal Theatre of 
Berlin, came to San Francisco. We never missed a 
performance, and when his tour was over, Mrs. 
Kautz gave a lawn party at Angel Island for him 
and a few of the members of his company. It was 
charming. I well remember how the sun shone that 
day, and, as we strolled up from the boat with them, 
Frau Haase stopped, looked at the blue sky, the lovely 
clouds, the green slopes of the Island and said : "Meiii 
Gott! Frau Summerhayes, zvas ist das fur ein Para- 
dies! Warum haben Sie uns nicht gesagt, Sie wohnten 
im Parodies!" 

So, with music and German speech, and strolls to 
the North and to the South Batteries, that wonderful 
and never-to-be-forgotten day with the great Fried- 
rich Haase came to an end. 

The months flew by, and the second winter found 
us still there; we heard rumors of Indian troubles in 
Arizona, and at last the orders came. The officers 
packed away their evening clothes in camphor and had 
their campaign clothes put out to air, and got their 
mess-chests in order, and the post was alive with prep- 
arations for the field. All the families vv^ere to stay 
behind. The most famous Indian renegade was to be 
hunted down, and serious fighting was looked for. 

At last all was ready, and the day was fixed for 
the departure of the troops. 

246 




B 
o 

bo 

B 



CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA 

The winter rains had set in, and the skies were grey, 
as the command marched down to the boat. 

The officers and soldiers were in their campaign 
clothes; the latter had their blanket-rolls and haver- 
sacks slung over their shoulders, and their tin cups, 
which hung from the haversacks, rattled and jingled 
as they marched down in even columns of four, over 
the wet and grassy slopes of the parade ground, where 
so short a time before all had been glitter and 
sunshine. 

I realized then perhaps for the first time what the 
uniform really stood for; that every man who w^ore 
it, was going out to fight — that they held their lives as 
nothing. The glitter was all gone; nothing but sad 
reality remained. 

The officers' wives and the soldiers' wives followed 
the troops to the dock. The soldiers marched single 
file over the gang-plank of the boat, the officers said 
good-bye, the shrill whistle of the ''General McPher- 
son" sounded — and they were off. We leaned back 
against the coal-sheds, and soldiers' and officers' wives 
alike all wept together. 

And now a season of gloom came upon us. The 
skies were dull and murky and the rain poured down. 

Our old friend Bailey, who was left behind on 
account of illness, grew worse and finally his case was 
pronounced hopeless. His death added to the deep 
gloom and sadness which enveloped us all. 

A few of the soldiers who had staid on the Island 
247 . 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

to take care of the post, carried poor Bailey to the 
boat, his casket wrapped in the flag and followed by a 
little procession of women. I thought I had never 
seen anything so sad. 

The campaign lengthened out into months, but the 
California winters are never very long, and before 
the troops came back the hills looked their brightest 
green again. The campaign had ended with no very 
serious losses to our troops and all was joyous again, 
until another order took us from the sea-coast to the 
interior once more. 

(248) 



CHAPTER XXIX 

CHANGING STATION 

It was the custom to change the stations of the 
different companies of a regiment about every two 
years. So the autumn of '82 found us on the way 
to Fort Haheck, a post in Nevada, but differing vastly 
from the desolate MacDermit station. Fort Halleck 
was only thirteen miles south of the Overland Rail- 
road, and lay near a spur of the Humboldt range. 
There were miles of sage-brush between the railroad 
and the post, but the mountains which rose abruptly 
five thousand feet on the far side, made a magnificent 
background for the officers' quarters, which lay 
nestled at the bottom of the foot-hills. 

"Oh ! what a lovely post !" I cried, as we drove in. 

Major Sanford of the First Cavalry, with Captain 
Carr and Lieutenant Oscar Brown, received us. 
''Dear me," I thougiit, "if the First Cavalry is made 
up of such gallant men as these, the old Eighth 
Infantry will have to look out for its laurels." 

Mrs. Sanford and Mrs. Carr gave us a great wel- 
come and vied with each other in providing for our 
comfort, and we were soon established. 

It was so good to see the gay yellow of the cavalry 
again ! Now I rode, to my heart's content, and it was 
good to be alive; to see the cavalry drill, and to ride 

249 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

through the canons, gorgeous in their flaming autumn 
tints; then again to gallop through the sage-brush, 
jumping where we could not turn, starting up rabbits 
by the score. 

That little old post, now long since abandoned, 
marked a pleasant epoch in our life. From the 
ranches scattered around we could procure butter and 
squabs and young vegetables, and the soldiers culti- 
vated great garden patches, and our small dinners 
and breakfasts live in delightful memory. 

At the end of two years spent so pleasantly with 
the people of the First Cavalry, our company was 
again ordered to Angel Island. But a second very 
active campaign in Arizona and Mexico, against 
Geronimo, took our soldiers away from us, and we 
passed through a period of considerable anxiety. 
June of '86 saw the entire regiment ordered to take 
station in Arizona once more. 

We travelled to Tucson in a Pullman car. It was 
hot and uninteresting. I had been at Tucson nine 
years before, for a few hours, but the place seemed 
unfamiliar. I looked for the old tavern; I saw only 
the railroad restaurant. We went in to take breakfast, 
before driving out to the post of Fort Lowell, seven 
miles away. Everything seemed changed. Iced can- 
taloupe was served by a spick-span alert waiter ; then, 
quail on toast. "Ice in Arizona?" It was like a dream, 
and I remarked to Jack, "This isn't the same Arizona 
we knew in '74," and then, "I don't believe I like it 

250 



CHANGING STATION 

as well, either; all this luxury doesn't seem to belong 
to the place." 

After a drive behind some smart mules, over a flat 
stretch of seven miles, we arrived at Fort Lowell, a 
rather attractive post, with a long line of officers' 
quarters, before which ran a level road shaded by 
beautiful great trees. We were assigned a half of 
one of these sets of quarters, and as our half had no 
conveniences for house-keeping, it was arranged that 
we should join a mess with General and Mrs. Kautz 
and their family. We soon got settled down to our 
life there, and we had various recreations; among 
them, driving over to Tucson and riding on horse- 
back are those which I remember best. We made a 
few acquaintances in Tucson, and tlicy sometimes 
drove out in the evenings, or more frequently rode 
out on horseback. Then we would gather together on 
the Kautz piazza and everybody sang to the accom- 
paniment of Mrs. Kautz's guitar. It was very hot, of 
course; we had all expected that, but the luxuries 
obtainable through the coming of the railroad, such as 
ice, and various summer drinks, and lemons, and 
butter, helped out to make the summer there more 
comfortable. 

We slept on the piazzas, which ran around the 
houses on a level with the ground. At that time the 
fad for sleeping out of doors, at least amongst civilized 
people, did not exist, and our arrangements were 
entirely primitive. 

251 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Our quarters were surrounded by a small yard and 
a fence; the latter was dilapidated, and the gate 
swung on one hinge. We were seven miles from any- 
where, and surrounded by a desolate country. I did 
not experience the feeling of terror that I had had at 
Camp Apache, for instance, nor the grewsome fear of 
the Ehrenberg grave-yard, nor the appalling fright 
I had known in crossing the Mogollon range or in 
driving through Sanford's Pass. But still there was 
a haunting feeling of insecurity which hung around 
me especially at night. I was awfully afraid of 
snakes, and no sooner had we lain ourselves down on 
our cots to sleep, than I would hear a rustling among 
the dry leaves that had blown in under our beds. 
Then all would be still again; then a crackling and a 
rustling — in a flash I would be sitting up in bed. 
"Jack, do you hear that?" Of course I did not dare 
to move or jump out of bed, so I would sit, rigid, 
scared. "Jack! what is it?" "Nonsense, Mattie, go 
to sleep; it's the toads jumping about in the leaves." 
But my sleep was fitful and disturbed, and I never 
knew what a good night's rest was. 

One night I was awakened by a tremendous snort 
right over my face. I opened my eyes and looked 
into the wild eyes of a big black bull. I think I must 
have screamed, for the bull ran clattering off the 
piazza and out through the gate. By this time Jack 
was up, and Harry and Katherine, who slept on the 
front piazza, came running out, and I said: "Well, 

252 



^ 



CHANGING STATION 

this is the hmit of aU things, and if that gate isn't 
mended to-morrow, I will know the reason why." 

Now I heard a vague rumor that there was a 
creature of this sort in or near the post, and that he 
had a habit of wandering around at night, but as I had 
never seen him, it had made no great impression on 
my mind. Jack had a great laugh at me, but I did 
not think then, nor do I now, that it was anything to 
be laughed at. 

1 We had heard much of the old Mission of San 
avier del Bac, away the other side of Tucson. Mrs. 
'^autz decided to go over there and go into camp and 
int a picture of San Xavier. It was about sixteen 
iles from Fort Lowell. 
iSo all the camp paraphernalia was gotten ready and 
sVeral of the officers joined the party, and we all 
wW over to San Xavier and camped for a few days 
unW the shadow of those beautiful old walls. This 
Mi\ion is almost unknown to the American traveler. 
EWiisite in color, form and architecture, it stands 
therea silent reminder of the Past. 

Th\ curious carvings and paintings inside the 
churcl, and the precious old vestments which were 
showr us by an ancient custodian, filled my mind with 
wonde. The building is partly in ruins, and the 
little squirrels were running about the galleries, but 
the gre^t dome is intact, and many of the wonderful 
figures Vhich ornament it. Of course we know the 
Spanish built it about the middle or last of the six- 

253 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

teenth century, and that they tried to christianize the 
tribes of Indians who hved arjvund in the vicinity. 
But there is no sign of priest or communicant now, 
nothing but a desolate plain around it for miles. No 
one can possibly understand how the building of this 
large and beautiful mission was accomplished, and 
I believe history furnishes very little information. 
In its archives was found quite recently the charter 
given by Ferdinand and Isabella, to establish the 
"pueblo" of Tucson about the beginning of the i6tb 
century. 

After a few delightful days, we broke camp an 
returned to Fort Lowell. 

And now^ the summer was drawing to a close, ad 
we were anticipating the delights of the winter clim^e 
at Tucson, when, without a note of warning, came ^le 
orders for Fort Niobrara. We looked, appalled in 
each other's faces, the evening the telegram came for 
we did not even know where Fort Niobrara wa. 

We all rushed into Major Wilhelm's quarter, for 
he always knew everything. We (Mrs. Kaut and 
several of the other ladies of the post, and nyself) 
were in a state of tremendous excitement We 
pounded on Major Wilhelm's door and we h^ard a 
faint voice from his bedroom (for it was afer ten 
o'clock) ; then we waited a few moments and lie said, 
**Come in." 

We opened the door, but there being no light in his 
quarters we could not see him. A voice said: "What 




r-- 




I 



L ^^sjfi^mwx:^:^^ 




PIH 




Altar, Mission of San Xavier del Bac. 



CHANGING STATION 

in tlie name of " but we did not wait for him to 

finish; we all shouted: "Where is Fort Niobrara?" 
^'The Devil!" he said. ''Are we ordered there?" 
''Yes, yes," we cried; "where is it?" "Why, girls," 
he said, relapsing into his customary moderate tones, 
"It's a hell of a freezing cold place, away up north in 
Nebraska." 

We turned our backs and went over to our quarters 
to have a consultation, and we all retired with sad 
hearts. 

Now, just think of it! To come to Fort Lowell in 
July, only to move in November! What could it 
mean? It was hard to leave the sunny South, to 
spend the winter in those congealed regions in the 
North. We were but just settled, and now came 
another break-up ! 

Our establishment now, with two children, several 
servants, two saddle horses, and additional household 
furnishings, was not so simple as in the beginning of 
our army life, when three chests and a box or two 
contained our worldly goods. Each move we made 
was more difficult than the last; our allowance of 
baggage did not begin to cover what we had to take 
along, and this added greatly to the expense of moving. 

The enormous waste attending a move, and the 
heavy outlay incurred in travelling and getting set- 
tled anew, kept us always poor; these considerations 
increased our chagrin over this unexpected change of 
.station. There was nothing to be done, however. 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Orders are relentless, even if they seem senseless, 
which this one did, to the women, at least, of the 
Eighth Infantry. 

(256) 



CHAPTER XXX 

FORT NIOBRARA 

The journey itself, however, was not to be dreaded, 
although it was so undesired. It was entirely by rail 
across New Mexico and Kansas, to St. Joseph, then up 
the Missouri River and then across the state to the 
westward. Finally, after four or five days, we 
reached the small frontier town of Valentine, in the 
very northwest corner of the bleak and desolate state 
of Nebraska. The post of Niobrara was four miles 
away, on the Niobrara (swift water) River. 

Some officers of the Ninth Cavalry met us at the 
station with the post ambulances. There were six 
companies of our regiment, with headquarters and 
band. 

It was November, and the drive across the rolling 
prairie-land gave us a fair glimpse of the country 
around. We crossed the old bridge over the Niobrara 
River, and entered the post. The snow lay already 
on the brown and barren hills, and the place struck 
a chill to my heart. 

The Ninth Cavalry took care of all the officers' 
families until we could get established. Lieutenant 
Bingham, a handsome and distinguished-looking young 
bachelor, took us with our two children to his quar- 
ters, and made us delightfully at home. His quarters 

257 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

were luxuriously furnished, and he was altogether 
adorable. This, to be sure, helped to soften my first 
harsh impressions of the place. 

Quarters were not very plentiful, and we were 
compelled to take a house occupied by a young officer 
of the Ninth. What base ingratitude it seemed, after 
the kindness we had accepted from his regiment ! But 
there was no help for it. We secured a colored cook, 
who proved a very treasure, and on inquiring how 
she came to be in those wilds, I learned that she had 
accompanied a young heiress who eloped with a 
cavalry lieutenant, from her home in New York some 
years before. 

What a contrast was here, and what a cruel con- 
trast! With blood thinned down by the enervating 
summer at Tucson, here we were, thrust into the polar 
regions ! Ice and snow and blizzards, blizzards and 
snow and ice ! The mercury disappeared at the bot- 
tom of the thermometer, and we had nothing to mark 
any degrees lower than 40 below zero. Human cal- 
culations had evidently stopped there. Enormous 
box stoves were in every room and in the halls ; the 
old-fashioned sort that we used to see in school-rooms 
and meeting-houses in New England. Into these, the 
soldiers stuffed great logs of mountain mahogany, 
and the fires were kept roaring day and night. 

A board walk ran in front of the officers' quarters, 
and, desperate for fresh air and exercise, some of the 
ladies would bundle up and go to walk. But frozen 

258 




2 

6 



FORT NIOBRARA 

chins, ears and elbows soon made this undesirable, 
and we gave up trying the fresh air, unless the mer- 
cury rose to 1 8 below, when a few of us would take 
our daily promenade. . 

We could not complain of our fare, however, for 
our larder hung full of all sorts of delicate and de- 
licious things, brought in by the grangers, and which 
we were glad to buy. Prairie-chickens, young pigs, 
venison, and ducks, all hanging, to be used when 
desired. 

To f rappe a bottle of wine, we stood it on the porch ; 
in a few minutes it would pour crystals. House-keep- 
ing was easy, but keeping warm was difficult. 

It was about this time that the law was passed 
abolishing the post-trader's store, and forbidding the 
selling of whiskey to soldiers on a Government reser- 
vation. The pleasant canteen, or Post Exchange, the 
soldiers' club-room, was established, where the men 
could go to relieve the monotony of their lives. 

With the abolition of whiskey, the tone of the post 
improved greatly; the men were contented with a 
glass of beer or light wine, the canteen was well man- 
aged, so the profits went back into the company messes 
in the shape of luxuries heretofore unknown ; billiards 
and reading-rooms were established; and from that 
time on, the canteen came to be regarded in the army 
as a most excellent institution. The men gained in 
self-respect; the canteen provided them with a place 
where they could go and take a bite of lunch, read, 

259 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

chat, smoke, or play games with their own chosen 
friends, and escape the lonesomeness of the barracks. 

But, alas ! this condition of things was not destined 
to endure, for the women of the various Temperance 
societies, in their mistaken zeal and woful ignorance 
of the soldiers' life, succeeded in influencing legisla- 
tion to such an extent that the canteen, in its turn, 
was abolished ; with what dire results, we of the army 
all know. 

Those estimable women of the W. C. T. U. thought 
to do good to the army, no doubt, but through their 
pitiful ignorance of the soldiers' needs they have 
done him an incalculable harm. 

Let them stay by their lectures and their clubs, I 
say, and their other amusements ; let them exercise 
their good influences nearer home, with a class of 
people whose conditions are understood by them, 
where they can, no doubt, do worlds of good. 

They cannot know the drear monotony of the 
barracks life on the frontier in times of peace. I 
have lived close by it, and I know it well. A cease- 
less round of drill and work and lessons, and work 
and lessons and drill — no recreation, no excitement, 
no change. 

Far away from family and all home companion- 
ship, a man longs for some pleasant place to go, after 
the day's work is done. Perhaps these women think 
(if, in their blind enthusiasm, they think at all) that 
a young soldier or an old soldier needs no recreation. 

260 




General August V. Kautz. 



FORT NIOBRARA 

At all events, they have taken from him the only 
one he had, the good old canteen, and given him 
nothing in return. 

Nov^ Fort Niobrara was a large post. There v^ere 
ten companies, cavalry and infantry, General August 
V. Kautz, the Colonel of the Eighth Infantry, in 
command. 

And here, amidst the sand-hills of Nebraska, we 
first began to really know our Colonel. A man of 
strong convictions and abiding honesty, a soldier who 
knew his profession thoroughly, having not only 
achieved distinction in the Civil War, but having 
served when little more than a boy, in the Mexican 
War of 1846. Genial in his manners, brave and kind, 
he was beloved by all. 

The three Kautz children, Frankie, Austin, and 
Navarra, were the inseparable companions of our 
own children. There was a small school for the 
children of the post, and a soldier by the name of 
Delany was schoolmaster. He tried hard to make 
our children learn, but they did not wish to study, 
and spent all their spare time in planning tricks to 
be played upon poor Delany. It was a difficult situa- 
tion for the soldier. Finally, the two oldest Kautz 
children were sent East to boarding-school, and we 
also began to realize that something must be done. 

Our surroundings during the early winter, it is 
true, had been dreary enough, but as the weather 

261 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

softened a bit and the spring approached, the post 
began to wake up. 

In the meantime,' Cupid had not been idle. It 
was observed that Mr. Bingham, our gracious host 
of the Ninth Cavalry, had fallen in love with An- 
toinette, the pretty and attractive daughter of Captain 
Lynch of our own regiment, and the post began to 
be on the qui vive to see how the affair. would end, 
for nobody expects to see the course of true love run 
smooth. In their case, however, the Fates were kind 
and in due time the happy engagement was 
announced. 

We had an excellent amusement hall, with a fine 
floor for dancing. The chapel was at one end, and a 
fairly good stage was at the other. 

Being nearer civilization now, in the state of 
Nebraska, Uncle Sam provided us with a chaplain, 
and a weekly service was held by the Anglican clergy- 
man — a tall, well- formed man, a scholar and, as we 
say, a gentleman. He wore the uniform of the army 
chaplain, and as far as looks went could hold his 
own with any of the younger officers. And it was a 
great comfort to the church people to have this weekly 
service. 

During the rest of the time, the chapel was con- 
cealed by heavy curtains, and the seats turned around 
facing the stage. 

We had a good string orchestra of twenty or more 
pieces, and as there were a number of active young 

262 



FORT NIOBRARA 

bachelors at the post, a series of weekly dances was 
inaugurated. Never did I enjoy dancing more than 
at this time. 

Then Mrs. Kautz, who was a thorough music lover 
and had a cultivated taste as well as a trained and 
exquisite voice, gave several musicales, for which 
much preparation was made, and which were most 
delightful. These were given at the quarters of Gen- 
eral Kautz, a long, low, rambling one-story house, 
arranged with that artistic taste for which Mrs. Kautz 
was distinguished. 

Then came theatricals, all managed by Mrs. Kautz, 
whose talents were versatile. 

We charged admission, for we needed some more 
scenery, and the neighboring frontier town of Valen- 
tine came riding and driving over the prairie and 
across the old bridge of the Niobrara River, to see 
our plays. We had a well-lighted stage. Our meth- 
ods were primitive, as there was no gas or electricity 
there in those days, but the results were good, and 
the histrionic ability shown by some of our young 
men and women seemed marvellous to us. 

I remember especially Bob Emmet's acting, which 
moved me to tears, in a most pathetic love scene. I 
thought, "What has the stage lost, in this gifted 
man!" 

But he is of a family whose talents are well known, 
and his personality, no doubt, added much to his 
natural ability as an actor. 

263 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Neither the army nor the stage can now claim this 
brilliant cavalry officer, as he was induced, by urgent 
family reasons, shortly after the period of which I 
am writing, to resign his commission and retire to 
private life, at the very height of his ambitious 
career. 

And now the summer came on apace. A tennis- 
court was made, and added greatly to our amusement. 
We were in the saddle every day, and the country 
around proved very attractive at this season, both for 
riding and driving. 

But all this gayety did not content me, for the 
serious question of education for our children now 
presented itself ; the question which, sooner or later, 
presents itself to the minds of all the parents of army 
children. It is settled differently by different people. 
It had taken a year for us to decide. 

I made up my mind that the first thing to be done 
was to take the children East and then decide on 
schools afterwards. So our plans were completed 
and the day of departure fixed upon. Jack was to 
remain at the Post. 

About an hour before I was to leave I saw the 
members of the string orchestra filing across the 
parade ground, coming directly towards our quarters. 
My heart began to beat faster, as I realized that 
Mrs. Kautz had planned a serenade for me. I felt it 
was a great break in my army life, but I did not know 
I was leaving the old regiment forever, the regiment 

264 



FORT NIOBRARA 

with which I had been associated for so many years. 
And as I hstened to the beautiful strains of the music 
I loved so well, my eyes were wet with tears, and 
after all the goodbye's were said, to the officers and 
their wives, my friends who had shared all our joys 
and our sorrows in so many places and under so many 
conditions, I ran out to the stable and pressed my 
cheek against the soft warm noses of our two saddle 
horses. I felt that life was over for me, and nothing 
but work and care remained. I say I felt all this. 
It must have been premonition, for I had no idea 
that I was leaving the line of the army forever. 

The ambulance was at the door, to take us to 
Valentine, where I bade Jack good bye, and took the 
train for the East. His last promise was to visit us 
once a year, or whenever he could get a leave of 
absence. 

My husband had now worn the single bar on his 
shoulder-strap for eleven years or more; before that, 
the straps of the second lieutenant had adorned his 
broad shoulders for a period quite as long. Twenty- 
two 3^ears a lieutenant in the regular army, after 
fighting, in a volunteer regiment of his own state, 
through the four years of the Civil War ! The 
''gallant and meritorious service" for which he had 
received brevets, seemed, indeed, to have been for- 
gotten. He had grown grey in Indian campaigns, 
and it looked as if the frontier might always be the 
home of the senior lieutenant of the old Eighth. 

265 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Promotion in that regiment had been at a standstill 
for years. 

Being in Washington for a short time towards mid- 
winter enjoying the social side of military life at 
the Capital, an opportunity came to me to meet 
President Cleveland, and although his administration 
was nearing its close, and the stress of official cares 
was very great, he seemed to have leisure and interest 
to ask me about my life on the frontier; and as the 
conversation became quite personal, the impulse 
seized me, to tell him just how I felt about the edu- 
cation of our children, and then to tell him what I 
thought and wjiat others thought about the unjust 
way in which the promotions and retirements in our 
regiment had been managed. 

He listened with the greatest interest and seemed 
pleased with my frankness. He asked me what the 
soldiers and officers out there thought of "So and So." 
"They hate him," I said. 

Whereupon he laughed outright and I knew I had 
committed an indiscretion, but life on the frontier does 
not teach one diplomacy of speech, and by that time 
I was nerved up to say just what I felt, regardless 
of results. 

"Well," he said, smiling, "I am afraid I cannot 
interfere much with those military matters;" then, 
pointing with his left hand and thumb towards the 
War Department, "they fix them all up over there 
in the Adjutant General's office," he added. 

266 



FORT NIOBRARA 

Then he asked me many more questions; if I had 
always stayed out there with my husband, and why 
I did not hve in the East, as so many army women 
did; and all the time I could hear the dull thud of 
the carpenters' hammers, for they were building even 
then the board seats for the public who would witness 
the inaugural ceremonies of his successor, and with 
each stroke of the hammer, his face seemed to grow 
more sad. 

I felt the greatness of the man; his desire to be 
just and good: his marvellous personal power, his 
ability to understand and to sympathize, and when I 
parted from him he said again laughingly, "Well, I 
shall not forget your husband's regiment, and if any- 
thing turns up for those fine men you have told me 
about, they will hear from me." And I knew they 
were the words of a man, who meant what he said. 

In the course of our conversation he had asked, 
"Who are these men? Do they ever come to Wash- 
ington? I rarely have these things explained to me 
and I have little time to interfere with the decisions 
of the Adjutant General's office." 

I replied: "No, Mr. President, they are not the 
men you see around Washington. Our regiment stays 
on the frontier, and these men are the ones who do 
the fighting, and you people here in Washington are 
apt to forget all about them." 

"What have they ever done? Were they in the 
Civil War?" he asked. 

267 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

''Their records stand in black and white in the 
War Department," I repHed, "if you have the interest 
to learn more about them." 

'Women's opinions are influenced by their feelings," 
he said. 

"Mine are based upon what I know, and I am 
prepared to stand by my convictions," I replied. 

Soon after this interview, I returned to New York 
and I did not give the matter very much further 
thought, but my impression of the greatness of Mr. 
Cleveland and of his powerful personality has re- 
mained with me to this day. 

A vacancy occurred about this time in the Quarter- 
master's Department, and the appointment was eagerly 
sought for by many Lieutenants of the army. 
President Cleveland saw fit to give the appointment 
to Lieutenant Summerhayes, making him a Captain 
and Quartermaster, and then, another vacancy occur- 
ring shortly after, he appointed Lieutenant John 
McEwen Hyde to be also a Captain and Quarter- 
master. 

Lieutenant Hyde stood next in rank to my husband 
and had grown grey in the old Eighth Infantry. So 
the regiment came in for its honor at last, and General 
Kautz, when the news of the second appointment 
reached him, exclaimed, "Well ! well ! does the 
President think my regiment a nursery for the Staff ?" 

The Eighth Foot and the Ninth Horse at Niobrara 
gave the new Captain and Quartermaster a rousing 

268 




John W. Summerhayes, Major and Quartermaster. U. S. A 




o 
o 



FORT NIOBRARA 

farewell, for now my husband was leaving his old 
regiment forever ; and, while he appreciated fully the 
honor of his new staff position, he felt a sadness at 
breaking off the associations of so many years — a 
sadness which can scarcely be understood by the young 
officers of the present day, who are promoted from 
one regiment to another, and rarely remain long 
enough with one organization to know even the men 
of their own Company. 

There were many champagne suppers, dinners and 
card-parties given for him, to make the good-bye 
something to be remembered, and at the end of a 
week's festivities, he departed by a night train from 
Valentine, thus eluding the hospitality of those 
generous but wild frontiersmen, who were waiting to 
give him what they call out there a "send-off." 

For Valentine was like all frontier towns; a row 
of stores and saloons. The men who kept them were 
generous, if somewhat rough. One of the officers of 
the post, having occasion to go to the railroad station 
one day at Valentine, saw the body of a man hanging 
to a telegraph pole a short distance up the track. He 
said to the station man: "What does that mean?" 
(nodding his head in the direction of the telegraph 
pole). 

"Why, it means just this," said the station man, 
"the people who hung that man last night had the 
nerve to put him right in front of this place, by G — . 
What would the passengers think of this town, sir, 

269 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

as they went by? Why, the reputation of Valentine 
would be ruined! Yes, sir, we cut him down and 
moved him up a pole or two. He zvas a hard case, 
though," he added. 

(270) 




a 

ct3 

o 



CHAPTER XXXI 

SANTA FE 

I MADE haste to present Captain Summerhayes with 
the shoulder-straps of his new rank, when he joined 
mc in New York. 

The orders for Santa Fe reached us in mid-summer 
at Nantucket. I knew about as much of Santa Fe 
as the average American knows, and that was nothinji ; 
but I did know that the Staff appointment solved the 
problem of education for us (for Staff officers are 
usually stationed in cities), and I knew that our 
frontier life was over. I welcomed the change, for 
our children were getting older, and we were our- 
selves approaching the age when comfort means more 
to one than it heretofore has. 

Jack obeyed his sudden orders, and I followed him 
as soon as possible. 

Arriving at Santa Fe in the mellow sunlight of an 
October, day, we were met by my husband and an 
officer of the Tenth Infantry, and as we drove into 
the town, its appearance of placid content, its ancient 
buildings, its great trees, its clear air, its friendly, 
indolent-looking inhabitants, gave me a delightful 
feeling of home. A mysterious charm seemed to pos- 
sess me. It was the spell which that old town loves 

271 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

to throw over the strangers who venture off the beaten 
track to come within her walls. 

Lying only eighteen miles away, over a small branch 
road from Llamy (a station on the Atchison and 
Topeka Railroad), few people take the trouble to 
stop over to visit it. "Dead old town," says the 
commercial traveller, "nothing doing there." 

And it is true. 

But no spot that I have visited in this country has 
thrown around me the spell of enchantment which 
held me fast in that sleepy and historic town. 

The Governor's Palace, the old plaza, the ancient 
churches, the antiquated customs, the Sisters' Hos- 
pital, the old Convent of Our Lady of Loretto, the 
soft music of the Spanish tongue, I loved them all. 

There were no factories ; no noise was ever heard ; 
the sun shone peacefully on, through winter and 
summer alike. There was no cold, no heat, but a 
delightful year-around climate. Why the place was 
not crowded with health seekers, was a puzzle to me. 
I had thought that the bay of San Francisco offered 
the most agreeable climate in America, but, in the 
Territory of New Mexico, Santa Fe was the per- 
fection of all climates combined. 

The old city lies in the broad valley of the Santa 
Fe Creek, but the valley of the Santa Fe Creek lies 
seven thousand feet above the sea level. I should 
never have known that we were living at a great 
altitude, if I had not been told, for the equable climate 

272 



SANTA FE 

made us forget to inquire about height or depth or 
distance. 

I Hstened to old Father de Fourri preach his short 
sermons in EngHsh to the few Americans who sat on 
one side of the aisle, in the church of Our Lady of 
Guadaloupe; then, turning with an easy gesture 
towards his Mexican congregation, who sat or knelt 
near the sanctuary, and saying, ''Hermanos mios," 
he gave the same discourse in good Spanish. I felt 
comfortable in the thought that I was improving my 
Spanish as well as profiting by Father de Fourri's 
sound logic. This good priest had grown old at Santa 
Fe in the service of his church. 

The Mexican women, with their black ribosos 
wound around their heads and concealing their faces, 
knelt during the entire mass, and made many long 
responses in Latin. 

After years spent in a heathenish manner, as re- 
gards all church observations, this devout and unique 
service, following the customs of ancient Spain, was 
interesting to me in the extreme. 

Sometimes on a Sunday afternoon I attended Ves- 
pers in the chapel of the Sisters' Hospital (as it was 
called). A fine Sanitarium, managed entirely by the 
Roman Catholic Sisters of Charity. 

Sister Victoria, who was at the head of the man- 
agement, was not only a very beautiful woman, but 
she had an agreeable voice and always led in the 
singing. 

273 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

It seemed like Heaven. 

I wrote to my friends in the East to come to the 
Sisters' Hospital if they wanted health, peace and 
happiness, for it was surely to be found there. 
I visited the convent of Our Lady of Loretto: I 
stood before a high wall in an embrasure of which 
there was a low wooden gate; I pulled on a small 
knotted string which hung out of a little hole, and a 
queer old bell rang. Then one of the nuns came and 
let me in, across a beautiful garden to the convent 
school. I placed my little daughter as a day pupil 
there, as she was now eleven years old. The nuns 
spoke very little English and the children none at all. 

The entire city was ancient, Spanish, Catholic, 
steeped in a religious atmosphere and in what the 
average American Protestant would call the supersti- 
tions of the dark ages. There were endless fiestas, 
and processions and religious services, I saw them all 
and became much interested in reading the history of 
the Catholic missions, established so early out through 
what was then a wild and unexplored country. After 
that, I listened with renewed interest to old Father de 
Fouri, who had tended and led his flock of simple 
people so long and so lovingly. 

There was a large painting of Our Lady of Guada- 
loupe over the altar — these people firmly believed that 
she had appeared to them, on the earth, and so 
strong was the influence around me that I began 
almost to believe it too. I never missed the Sunday 

274 



SANTA FE 

morning mass, and I fell in easily with the religious 
observances. 

I read and studied about the old explorers, and I 
seemed to live in the time of Cortez and his brave 
band. I became acquainted with Adolf Bandelier, 
who had lived for years in that country, engaged in 
research for the American Archaeological Society. I 
visited the Indian pueblos, those marvellous structures 
of adobe, where live entire tribes, and saw natives 
who have not changed their manner of speech or 
dress since the days when the Spaniards first pene- 
trated to their curious dwellings, three hundred or 
more years ago. I climbed the rickety ladders, by 
which one enters these strange dwellings, and bought 
the great bowls which these Indians shape in some 
then bake in their mud ovens, 
manner without the assistance of a potter's wheel, and 

The pueblo of Tesiique is only nine miles from 
Santa Fe, and a pleasant drive, at that; it seemed 
strange to me that the road was not lined with 
tourists. But no, they pass all these wonders by, in 
their disinclination to go ofif the beaten track. 

Visiting the pueblos gets to be a craze. Governor 
and Mrs. Prince knew them all — the pueblo of Taos, 
of Santa Clara, San Juan, and others; and the Gov- 
ernor's collection of great stone idols was a marvel 
indeed. He kept them laid out on shelves, which 
resembled the bunks on a great vessel, and in an 
apartment especially reserved for them, in his resi- 

275 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

dence at Santa Fe, and it was always with consider- 
able awe that I entered that apartment. The 
Governor occupied at that time a low, rambling adobe 
house, on Palace Avenue, and this, with its thick walls 
and low window-seats, made a fit setting for the 
treasures they had gathered. 

Later on, the Governor's family occupied the palace 
(as it is always called) of the old Spanish Viceroy, a 
most ancient, picturesque, yet dignified building, fac- 
ing the plaza. 

The various apartments in this old palace were used 
for Government offices when we were stationed there 
in 1889, and in one of these rooms. General Lew Wal- 
lace, a few years before, had written his famous book, 
*'Ben Hur." 

On the walls were hanging old portraits painted by 
the Spaniards in the sixteenth century. They were 
done on rawhide, and whether these interesting and 
historic pictures have been preserved by our Govern- 
ment I do not know. 

The distinguished Anglican clergyman living there 
taught a small class of boys, and the "Academy," an 
excellent school established by the Presbyterian Board 
of Missions, afiforded good advantages for the young 
girls of the garrison. And as we had found that the 
Convent of Loretto was not just adapted to the educa- 
tion of an American child, we withdrew Katharine 
from that school and placed her at the Presbyterian 
Academy. 

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SANTA FE 

To be sure, the young woman teacher gave a rousing 
lecture on total abstinence once a week ; going even so 
far as to say, that to partake of apple sauce which 
had begun to ferment was yielding to the temptations 
of Satan. The young woman's arguments made a 
disastrous impression upon our children's minds ; so 
much so, that the rich German Jews whose daughters 
attended the school complained greatly; for, as they 
told us. these girls would hasten to snatch the de- 
canters from the sideboard, at the approach of visitors, 
and hide them, and they began to sit in judgment upon 
their elders. Now these men were among the leading 
citizens of the town ; they were self-respecting and 
wealthy. They could not stand these extreme doc- 
trines, so opposed to their life and their traditions. 
We informed Miss X. one day that she could excuse 
our children from the total abstinence lecture, or 
we should be compelled to withdraw them from the 
school. She said she could not compel them to listen, 
but preach she must. She remained obedient to her 
orders from the Board, and we could but respect her 
for that. Our young daughters were, however, 
excused from the lecture. 

But our time was not entirely given up to the study 
of ancient pottery, for the social life there was delight- 
ful. The garrison was in the centre of the town, 
the houses were comfortable, and the streets shaded 
by old trees. The Tenth Infantry had its headquar- 
ters and two companies there. Every afternoon, the 

'^17 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

military band played in the Plaza, where everybody 
went and sat on benches in the shade of the old trees, 
or, if cool, in the delightful sunshine. The pretty 
and well-dressed senoritas cast shy glances at the 
young officers of the Tenth ; but, alas ! the handsome 
and attractive Ivieutenants Van Vliet and Seyburn, 
and the more sedate Lieutenant Plummer, could not 
return these bewitching glances, as they were all 
settled in life. 

The two former officers had married in Detroit, 
and both Mrs. Van Vliet and Mrs. Seyburn did honor 
to the beautiful city of Alichigan, for they were most 
agreeable and clever women, and presided over their 
army homes with distinguished grace and hospitality. 

The Americans who lived there were all professional 
people; mostly lawyers, and a few bankers. I could 
not understand why so many Eastern lawyers lived 
there. I afterwards learned that the old Spanish 
land grants had given rise to illimitable and never- 
ending litigation. 

Every morning we rode across country. There 
were no fences, but the wide irrigation ditches gave 
us a plenty of excitement, and the riding was glorious. 
I had no occasion yet to realize that we had left the 
line of the army. 

A camping trip to the head-waters of the Pecos, 
where we caught speckled trout in great abundance in 
the foaming riffles and shallow pools of this rushing 
mountain stream, remaining in camp a week under 

278 




a 
'S 

u 

O 

O 



SANTA FE 

the spreading boughs of the mighty pines, added to 
the variety and dehghts of our Hfe there. 

With such an existence as this, good heakh and 
diversion, the time passed rapidly by. 

It was against the law now for soldiers to marry; 
the old days of "laundresses" had passed away. 
But the trombone player of the Tenth Infantry 
band (a young Boston boy) had married a wife, and 
now a baby had come to them. They could get no 
quarters, so we took the family in, and, as the wife 
was an excellent cook, we were able to give many 
small dinners. The walls of the house being three feet 
thick, we were never troubled by the trombone prac- 
tice or the infant's cries. And many a delightful eve- 
ning we had around the board, with Father de Fourri, 
Rev. Mr. Meany (the Anglican clergyman), the offi- 
cers and ladies of the Tenth, Governor and Mrs. 
Prince, and the brilliant lawyer folk of Santa Fe. 

Such an ideal life cannot last long; this existence 
of ours does not seem to be contrived on those lines. 
At the end of a year, orders came for Texas, and 
perhaps it was well that orders came, or we might 
be in Santa Fe to-day, wrapt in a dream of past ages ; 
for the city of the Holy Faith had bound us with 
invisible chains. 

With our departure from Santa Fe, all picturesque- 
ness came to an end in our army life. Ever after 
that, we had really good houses to live in, which had 
all modern arrangements ; we had beautiful, well-kept 

279 



SANTA FE 

lawns and gardens, the same sort of domestic service 
that civilians have, and lived almost the same life. 

(280) 



CHAPTER XXXII 

TEXAS 

Whenever I think of San Antonio and Fort Sam 
Houston, the perfume of the wood violet which blos- 
somed in mid-winter along the borders of our lawn, 
and the delicate odor of the Cape jessamine, seem to 
be wafted about me. 

Fort Sam Houston is the Headquarters of the De- 
partment of Texas, and all the Staff officers live there, 
in comfortable stone houses, with broad lawns shaded 
by chinaberry trees. Then at the top of the hill is 
a great quadrangle, with a clock tower and all the 
department offices. On the other side of this quad- 
rangle is the post, where the line officers live. 

General Stanley commanded the Department. A 
fine, dignified and able man, with a great record as an 
Indian fighter. Jack knew him well, as he had been 
with him in the hist preliminary survey for the 
northern Pacific Railroad, when he drove old Sitting 
Bull back to the Powder River. 

He was now about to reach the age of retirement; 
and as the day approached, that day when a man has 
reached the limit of his usefulness (in the opinion of 
an ever-wise Government), that day which sounds the 
knell of active service, that day so dreaded and yet so 
longed for, that day when an army officer is sixty-four 

281 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

years old and Uncle Sam lays him upon the shelf, as 
that day approached, the city of San Antonio, in fact 
the entire State of Texas poured forth to bid him God- 
speed; for if ever an army man was beloved, it was 
General Stanley by the State of Texas. 

Now on the other side of the great quadrangle lay 
the post, where were the soldiers' barracks and quar- 
ters of the line officers. This was commanded by 
Colonel Coppinger, a gallant officer, who had fought 
in many wars in many countries. 

He had his famous regiment, the Twenty-third 
Infantry, and many were the pleasant dances and 
theatricals we had, with the music furnished by their 
band; for, as it was a time of peace, the troops were 
all in garrison. 

Major Burbank was there also, with his well-drilled 
Light Battery of the 3rd Artillery. 

My husband, being a Captain and Quartermaster, 
served directly under General George H. Weeks, who 
was Chief Quartermaster of the Department, and I 
can never forget his kindness to us both. He was one 
of the best men I ever knew, in the army or out of it, 
and came to be one of my dearest friends. He pos- 
sessed the sturdy qualities of his Puritan ancestry, 
united with the charming manners of an aristocrat. 

We belonged, of course, now, with the Stafif, and 
something, an intangible something, seemed to have 
gone out of the life. The officers were all older, and 
the Staff uniforms were more sombre. I missed the 

282 



TEXAS 

white stripe of the infantry, and the yellow of the 
cavalry. The shoulder-straps all had gold eagles or 
leaves on them, instead of the Captains' or Lieuten- 
ants' bars. Many of the Staff officers wore civilians' 
clothes, which distressed me much, and I used to tell 
them that if I were Secretary of War they would not 
be permitted to go about in black alpaca coats and 
cinnamon-brown trousers. 

"What would you have us do?" said General 
Weeks. 

"Wear white duck and brass buttons," I replied. 

"Fol-de-rol !" said the fine-looking and erect Chief 
Quartermaster; "you would have us be as vain as we 
were when we were Lieutenants?" 

''You can afford to be," I answered ; for, even with 
his threescore years, he had retained the lines of 
youth, and was, in my opinion, the finest looking man 
in the Staff of the Army. 

But all my reproaches and all my diplomacy were 
of no avail in reforming the Staff. Evidently com- 
fort and not looks was their motto. 

One day, I accidentally caught a side view of myself 
in a long mirror (long mirrors had not been very 
plentiful on the frontier), and was appalled by the 
fact that my own lines corresponded but too well, 
alas ! with those of the Staff. Ah, me ! were the days, 
then, of Lieutenants forever past and gone? The 
days of suppleness and youth, the careless gay days, 
when there was no thought for the future, no anxiety 

283 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

about education, when the day began with a wild 
dash across country and ended with a dinner and 
dance — were they over, then, for us all? 

Major Burbank's battery of light artillery came 
over and enlivened the quiet of our post occasionally 
with their brilliant red color. At those times, we 
all went out and stood in the music pavilion to watch 
the drill ; and when his horses and guns and caissons 
thundered down the hill and swept by us at a terrific 
gallop, our hearts stood still. Even the dignified 
Staff permitted themselves a thrill, and as for us 
women, our excitement knew no bounds. 

The brilliant red of the artillery brought color to 
the rather grey aspect of the quiet Headquarters post, 
and the magnificent drill supplied the martial element 
so dear to a woman's heart. 

In San Antonio, the New has almost obliterated the 
Old, and little remains except its pretty green river, 
its picturesque bridges, and the historic Alamo, to 
mark it from other cities in the Southwest. 

In the late afternoon, everybody drove to the Plaza, 
where all the country people were selling their garden- 
stuff and poultry in the open square. This was 
charming, and we all bought live fowl and drove home 
again. One heard cackling and gobbling from the 
smart traps and victorias, and it seemed to be a sur- 
vival of an old custom. The whole town took a drive 
after that, and supped at eight o'clock. 

The San Antonio people believe there is no climate 
284 



TEXAS 

to equal theirs, and talk much ahout the cool breezes 
from the Gulf of Mexico, which is some miles away. 
But I found seven months of the twelve too hot for 
comfort, and I could never detect much coolness in 
the summer breezes. 

After I settled down to the sedateness which is 
supposed to belong to the Staff, I began to enjoy life 
very much. There is compensation for every loss, 
and I found, with the new friends, many of whom had 
lived their lives, and had known sorrow and joy, a 
true companionship which enriched my life, and filled 
the days with gladness. 

My son had completed the High School course in 
San Antonio, under an able German master, and had 
been sent East to prepare for the Stevens Institute 
of Technology, and in the following spring I took my 
daughter Katharine and fled from the dreaded heat 
of a Texas summer. Never can I forget the child's 
grief on parting from her Texas pony. She extorted 
a solemn promise from her father, who was obliged to 
stay in Texas, that he would never part with him. 

My brother, then unmarried, and my sister Harriet 
were living together in New Rochelle and to them 
we went. Harry's vacation enabled him to be with 
us, and we had a delightful summer. It was good to 
be on the shores of Long Island Sound. 

In the autumn, not knowing what next was in store 
for us, I placed my dear little Katharine at the Con- 
vent of the Sacred Heart at Kenwood on the Hudson, 

28s 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

that she might be able to complete her education in 
one place, and in the care of those lovely, gentle and 
refined ladies of that order. 

Shortly after that, Captain Jack was ordered to 
David's Island, New York Harbor (now called Fort 
Slocum), where we spent four happy and uninter- 
rupted years, in the most constant intercourse with 
my dear brother and sister. 

Old friends were coming and going all the time, 
and it seemed so good to us to be living in a place 
where this was possible. 

Captain Summerhayes was constructing officer and 
had a busy life, with all the various sorts of building 
to be done there. 

David's Island was then an Artillery Post, and 
there were several batteries stationed there. (After- 
wards it became a recruiting station.) The garrison 
was often entirely changed. At one time. General 
Henry C. Cook was in command. He and his charm- 
ing Southern wife added so much to the enjoyment of 
the post. Then came our old friends the Van Vliets 
of Santa Fe days ; and Dr. and Mrs. A^alery Havard, 
who are so well known in the army, and then Colonel 
Carl Woodruff and Mrs. Woodruff, whom we all liked 
so much, and dear Doctor Julian Cabell, and others, 
who completed a delightful garrison. 

And we had a series of informal dances and invited 
the distinguished members of the artist colony from 
New^ Rochelle, and it was at one of these dances that 

286 



TEXAS 

I first met Frederic Remington. I had long admired 
his work and had been most anxious to meet him. 
As a rule, Frederic did not attend any social func- 
tions, but he loved the army, and as Mrs. Remington 
was fond of social life, they were both present at 
our first little invitation dance. 

About the middle of the evening I noticed Mr. 
Remington sitting alone and I crossed the hall and 
sat down beside him. I then told him how much 
I had loved his work and how it appealed to all 
army folks, and how glad I was to know him, and 
I suppose I said many other things such as literary 
men and painters and players often have to hear from 
enthusiastic women like myself. However, Frederic 
seemed pleased, and made some modest little speech 
and then fell into an abstracted silence, gazing on 
the great flag which was stretched across the hall at 
one end, and from behind which some few soldiers 
who were going to assist in serving the supper were 
passing in and out. I fell in with his mood imme- 
diately, as he was a person with whom formality 
was impossible, and said: "What are you looking 
at, Mr. Remington?" He replied, turning upon me 
his round boyish face and his blue eyes gladdening, 
"I was just thinking I wished I was behind in there 
where those blue jackets are — you know — behind that 
flag with the soldiers — those are the men I like to 
study, you know, I don't like all this fuss and feathers 
of society" — then, blushing at his lack of gallantry, 

287 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

he added : ''It's all right, of course, pretty women 
and all that, and I suppose you think I'm dreadful 
and — do you want me to dance with you — that's the 
proper thing here — isn't it?" Whereupon, he seized 
me in his great arms and whirled me around at a 
pace I never dreamed of, and, once around, he said, 
''that's enough of this thing, isn't it, let's sit down, 
I believe I'm going to like you, though I'm not much 
for women." I said "You must come over here 
often;" and he replied, "You've got a lot of jolly 
good fellows over here and I will do it." 

Afterwards, the Remingtons and ourselves became 
the closest friends. Mrs. Remington's maiden name 
was Eva Caton, and after the first few meetings, she 
became "little Eva" to me — and if ever there was an 
embodiment of that gentle lovely name and what it 
implies, it is this woman, the wife of the great artist, 
who has stood by him through all the reverses of his 
early life and been, in every sense, his guiding star. 

And now began visits to the studio, a great room 
he had built on to his house at New Rochelle. It 
had an enormous fire place where great logs were 
burned, and the walls were hung with the most rare 
and wonderful Indian curios. There he did all the 
painting which has made him famous in the last 
twenty years, and all the modelling which has already 
become so well known and would have eventually 
made him a name as a great sculptor. He always 
worked steadily until three o'clock and then there was 

288 




Frederic Remington and Jack Summerhayes on a 
shooting trip in Mexico Showing the i\rmy "Ambu- 
lance." 



TEXAS 

a walk or game of tennis or a ride. After dinner, 
delightful evenings in the studio. 

Frederic was a student and a deep thinker. He 
liked to solve all questions for himself and did not 
accept readily other men's theories. He thought 
much on religious subjects and the future life, and 
liked to compare the Christian religion with the re- 
ligions of Eastern countries, weighing them one 
against the other with fairness and clear logic. 

And so we sat, many evenings into the night, Fred- 
eric and Jack stretched in their big leather chairs 
puffing away at their pipes, Eva with her needlework, 
and myself a rapt listener : wondering at this man 
of genius, who could work with his creative brush 
all day long and talk with the eloquence of a learned 
Doctor of Divinity half the night. 

During the time we were stationed at Davids 
Island, Mr. Remington and Jack made a trip to the 
Southwest, where they shot the peccary (wild hog) 
in Texas and afterwards blue quail and other game 
in Mexico. Artist and soldier, they got on famously 
together notwithstanding the difference in their ages. 

And now he was going to try his hand at a novel, 
a real romance. We talked a good deal about the 
little Indian boy, and I got to love White Weasel 
long before he appeared in print as John Ermine. 
The book came out after we had left New Rochelle — 
but I received a copy from him, and wrote him my 
ooinion of it, which was one of unstinted praise. But 

289 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

it did not surprise me to learn that he did not con- 
sider it a success from a financial point of view. 

"You see," he said a year afterwards, "that sort 
of thing does not interest the pubhc. What they 
want," — here he began to mimic some funny old East 
Side person, and both hands gesticulating — "is a 
back yard and a cabbage patch and a cook stove and 
babies' clothes drying beside it, you see, Mattie," he 
said. "They don't want to know anything about the 
Indian or the half-breed, or what he thinks or be- 
lieves/' And then he went off into one of his irresisti- 
ble tirades combining ridicule and abuse of the reading 
public, in language such as only Frederic Remington 
could use before women and still retain his dignity. 
"Well, Frederic," I said, "I will try to recollect that, 
when I write my experiences of Army Life." 

In writing him my opinion of his book the year 
before, I had said, "In fact, I am in love with John 
Ermine." The following Christmas he sent me the 
accompanying card. 







TEXAS 

Now the book was dramatized and produced, with 
Hackett as John Ermine, at the Globe Theatre in 
September of 1902 — the hottest weather ever on rec- 
ord in Boston at that season. Of course seats were 
reserved for us ; we were hving at Nantucket that 
year, and we set sail at noon to see the great pro- 
duction. We snatched a bite of supper at a near-by 
hotel in Boston and hurried to the theatre, but being 
late, had some difficulty in getting our seats. 

The curtain was up and there sat Hackett, not 
with long yellow hair (which was the salient point 
in the half-breed scout) but rather well-groomed, 
looking more like a parlor Indian than a real live 
half-breed, such as all we army people knew. I 
thought "this will never do." 

The house was full, Hackett did the part well, and 
the audience murmured on going out: "a very ar- 
tistic success." But the play was too mystical, too sad. 
It would have suited the "New Theatre" patrons 
better. I wrote him from Nantucket and criticized 
one or two minor points, such as the 1850 riding 
habits of the women, which were slouchy and un- 
becoming and made the army people look like poor 
emigrants and I received this letter in reply: 

We:bsti:r avknue:, 
Nkw Roche:i.i.K, N. Y. 
My dear Mrs. S., 

Much obliged for your talk — it is just what we want 
— proper impressions. 

291 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

I fought for that long hair but the management 
said the audience has got to have some Hackett — 
why I could not see — but he is a matinee idol and that 
long with the box office. 

We'll dress Katherine up better. 

The long rehearsals at night nearly killed me — I 
was completely done up and came home on train 
Monday in that terrific heat and now I am in the 
hands of a doctor. Imagine me a week without sleep. 

Hope that fight took Jack back to his youth. For 
the stage I don't think it was bad. We'll get grey 
shirts on their men later. 

The old lady arrives to-day — she has been in 
Gloversville. 

I think the play will go — but we may have to save 
Ermine. The public is a funny old cat and won't 
stand for the mustard. 

Well, glad you had a good time and of course you 
can't charge me up with the heat. 

Yours, 

Frkdi:rick R. 

Remington made a trip to the Yellowstone Park 
and this is what he wrote to Jack. His letters were 
never dated. 

My dear Summerhayes: 

Say if you could get a few puffs of this cold air 
out here you would think you were full of champagne 
water. I feel Uke a d — kid — 

292 



TEXAS 

I thought I should never be young again — but here 
I am only 14 years old — my whiskers are falling out. 

Capt. Brown of the ist cav. wishes to be remem- 
bered to you both. He is Park Superintendent. Says 
if you will come out here he will take care of you and 
he would. 

Am painting and doing some good work. Made a 
"govt, six" yesterday. 




^^jc iSh^L ^'^ 



293 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

In the course of time, he bought an Island in the 
St. Lawrence and they spent several summers there. 

On the occasion of my husband accepting a detail 
in active service in Washington at the Soldiers' Home, 
after his retirement, he received the following letter. 

IngIvEneuk, Chippewa Bay, N. Y. 
My dear Jack — 

So there you are — and I'm d — glad you are so 
nicely fixed. It's the least they could do for you 
and you ought to be able to enjoy it for ten years 
before they find any spavins on you if you will 
behave yourself, but I guess you will drift into that 
Army and Navy Club and round up with a lot of those 
old alkalied prairie-dogs whom neither Indians nor 
whiskey could kill and Mr. Gout will take you over 
his route to Arlington. 

I'm on the water wagon and I feel like a young 
mule. I am never going to get down again to try the 
walking. If I lose my whip I am going to drive 
right on and leave it. 

We are having a fine summer and I may run over 
to Washington this winter and throw my eye over 
you to see how you go. We made a trip down to 
New Foundland but saw nothing worth while. I guess 
I am getting to be an old swat — I can't see anything 
that didn't happen twenty years ago, 

Y— 

Fre:de:rick r. 
294 



TEXAS 

At the close of the year just gone, this great soul 
passed from the earth leaving a blank in our lives 
that nothing can ever fill. Passed into the great 
Beyond whose mysteries were always troubling his 
mind. Suddenly and swiftly the call came — the hand 
was stilled and the restless spirit took its flight. 

(295) 



CHAPTER XXXIII 
David's island 

At Davids' Island the four happiest years of my 
army hfe gHded swiftly away. 

There was a small steam tug which made regular 
and frequent trips over to New Rochelle and we en- 
joyed our intercourse with the artists and players 
who lived there. 

Zogbaum, whose well known pictures of sailors and 
warships and soldiers had reached us even in the 
far West, and whose charming family added so much 
to our pleasure. 

Julian Hawthorne with his daughter Hildegarde, 
now so well known as a literary critic; Henry Loomis 
Nelson, whose fair daughter Margaret came to our 
little dances and promptly fell in love with a young, 
slim, straight Artillery officer. A case of love at first 
sight, followed by a short courtship and a beautiful 
little country wedding at Miss Nelson's home on the 
old Pelham Road, where Hildegarde Hawthorne was 
bridesmaid in a white dress and scarlet flowers (the 
artillery colors) and many famous literary people 
from everywhere were present. 

Augustus Thomas, the brilliant playwright, whose 
home was near the Remingtons on Lathers' Hill, and 

296 



DAVID'S ISLAND 

whose wife, so young, so beautiful and so accom- 
plished, made that home attractive and charming. 

Francis \Vilson, known to the world at large, first 
as a singer in comic opera, and now as an actor and 
author, also lived in New Rochelle, and we came to 
have the honor of being numbered amongst his 
friends. A devoted husband and kind father, a man 
of letters and a book lover, such is the man as we 
knew him in his home and with his family. 

And now came the delicious warm summer days. 
We persuaded the Quartermaster to prop up the 
little row of old bathing houses which had toppled 
over with the heavy winter gales. There were several 
bathing enthusiasts amongst us ; we had a pretty fair 
little stretch of beach which was set apart for the 
officers' families, and now what bathing parties we 
had! Kemble, the illustrator, joined our ranks — and 
on a warm summer morning the little old Tug Ham- 
ilton was gay with the artists and their families, the 
players and writers of plays, and soon you could 
see the little garrison hastening to the beach and the 
swimmers running down the long pier, down the 
run-way and off head first into the clear waters of 
the Sound. What a company was that ! The younger 
and the older ones all together, children and their 
fathers and mothers, all happy, all well, all so gay, 
and we of the frontier so enamored of civilization 
and what it brought us ! There were no intruders and 
ah ! those were happy days. Uncle Sam seemed to 

297 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

be making up to us for what we had lost during all 
those long years in the wild places. 

Then Augustus Thomas wrote the play of ''Arizona" 
and we went to New York to see it put on, and we 
sat in Mr. Thomas' box and saw our frontier life 
brought before us with startling reality. 

And so one season followed another. Each bring- 
ing its pleasures, and then came another lovely wed- 
ding, for my brother Harry gave up his bachelor 
estate and married one of the nicest and handsomest 
girls in Westchester County, and their home in New 
Rochelle was most attractive. My son was at the 
Stevens Institute and both he and Katharine were 
able to spend their vacations at David's Island, and 
altogether, our life there was near to perfection. 

We were doomed to have one more tour in the 
West, however, and this time it was the Middle West. 

For in the autumn of '96, Jack was ordered to 
Jefferson Barracks, Missouri, on construction work. 

Jefferson Barracks is an old and historic post on 
the Mississippi River, some ten miles south of St. 
Louis. I could not seem to take any interest in the 
post or in the life there. I could not form new ties 
so quickly, after our life on the coast, and I did not 
like the Mississippi Valley, and St. Louis was too far 
from the post, and the trolley ride over there too dis- 
agreeable for words. After seven months of just 
existing (on my part) at Jefferson Barracks, Jack 
received an order for Fort Myer, the end, the aim, 

298 



DAVID'S ISLAND 

the dream of all army people. Fort Myer is about 
three miles from Washington, D. C. 

We lost no time in getting there and were soon 
settled in our pleasant quarters. There was some 
building to be done, but the duty was comparatively 
light, and we entered with considerable zest into the 
social life of the Capital. We expected to remain 
there for two years, at the end of which time Captain 
Summerhayes would be retired and Washington would 
be our permanent home. 

But alas ! our anticipation was never to be realized, 
for, as we all know, in May of 1898, the Spanish War 
broke out, and my husband was ordered to New York 
City to take charge of the Army Transport Service, 
under Colonel Kimball. 

No delay was permitted to him, so I was left behind, 
to pack up the household goods and to dispose of our 
horses and carriages as best I could. 

The battle of Manila Bay had changed the current 
of our lives, and we were once more adrift. 

The young Cavalry officers came in to say good-bye 
to Captain Jack : every one was busy packing up his 
belongings for an indefinite period and preparing for 
the field. We all felt the undercurrent of sadness 
and uncertainty, but "3. good health" and "happy 
return" was drunk all around, and Jack departed at 
midnight for his new station and new duties. 

The next morning at daybreak we were awakened 



299 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

by the tramp, tramp of the Cavalry, marching out 
of the post, en route for Cuba. 

We peered out of the windows and watched the 
troops we loved so well, until every man and horse 
had vanished from our sight. 

Fort Myer was deserted and our hearts were sad. 

My sister Harriet, who was visiting us at that time, 
returned from her morning walk, and as she stepped 
upon the porch, she said : "Well ! of all lonesome 
places I ever saw, this is the worst yet. I am going 
to pack my trunk and leave. I came to visit an army 
post, but not an old zvomen's home or an orphan 
asylum : that is about all this place is now. I simply 
cannot stay !" 

Whereupon, she proceeded immediately to carry out 
her resolution, and I was left behind with my young 
daughter, to finish and close up our life at Fort Myer. 

To describe the year which followed, that strenuous 
year in New York, is beyond my power. 

That summer gave Jack his promotion to a Major, 
but the anxiety and the terrible strain of official work 
broke down his health entirely, and in the following 
winter the doctors sent him to Florida, to recuperate. 

After six weeks in St. Augustine, we returned to 
New York. The stress of the war was over ; the Ma}or 
was ordered to Governor's Island as Chief Quarter- 
master, Department of the East, and in the following 

300 



DAVID'S ISLAND 

year he was retired, by operation of the law, at the 
age limit. 

I was glad to rest from the incessant changing of 
stations; the life had become irksome to me, in its 
perpetual unrest. I was glad to find a place to lay 
my head, and to feel that we were not under orders ; 
to find and to keep a roof-tree, under which we could 
abide forever. 

In 1903, by an act of Congress, the veterans of the 
Civil War, who had served continuously for thirty 
years or more were given an extra grade, so now my 
hero wears with complacency the silver leaf of the 
Lieutenant-Colonel, and is enjoying the quiet life of 
a civilian. 

But that fatal spirit of unrest from which I thought 
to escape, and which ruled my life for so many years, 
sometimes asserts its power, and at those times my 
thoughts turn back to the days when we were all 
Lieutenants together, marching across the deserts and 
mountains of Arizona; back to my friends of the 
Eighth Infantry, that historic regiment, whose officers 
and men fought before the walls of Chapultepec and 
Mexico, back to my friends of the Sixth Cavalry, to 
the days at Camp MacDowell, where we slept under 
the stars, and watched the sun rise from behind the 
Four Peaks of the MacDowell Mountains: where we 
rode the big cavalry horses over the sands of the 
Maricopa desert, swung in our hammocks under the 
ramddas; swam in the red waters of the Verde River, 

301 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

ate canned peaches, pink butter and commissary hams, 
listened for the scratching of the centipedes as they 
scampered around the edges of our canvas-covered 
floors, found scorpions in our sHppers, and rattle- 
snakes under our beds. 

The old post is long since abandoned, but the Four 
Peaks still stand, wrapped in their black shadows by 
night, and their purple colors by day, waiting for the 
passing of the Apache and the coming of the white 
man, who shall dig his canals in those arid plains, 
and build his cities upon the ruins of the ancient 
Aztec dwellings. 

The Sixth Cavalry, as well as the Eighth Infantry, 
has seen many vicissitudes since those days. Some 
of our gallant Captains and Lieutenants have won 
their stars, others have been slain in battle. 

Dear, gentle Major Worth received wounds in the 
Cuban campaign, which caused his death, but he wore 
his stars before he obeyed the ''last call." 

The gay young officers of Angel Island days hold 
dignified commands in the Philippines, Cuba, and 
Alaska. 



My early experiences were unusually rough. None 
of us seek such experiences, but possibly they bring 
with them a sort of recompense, in that simple com- 
forts afterwards seem, by contrast, to be the greatest 
luxuries. 

302 



DAVID'S ISLAND 

I am glad to have known the army: the soldiers, 
the line, and the Staff; it is good to think of honor 
and chivalry, obedience to duty and the pride of 
arms ; to have lived amongst men whose motives were 
unselfish and whose aims were high; amongst men 
who served an ideal ; who stood ready, at the call of 
Vrc'ir country, to give their lives for a Government 
\\ I'.ich is, to them, the best in the world. 

Sometimes I hear the still voices of the Desert : they 
seem to be calling me through the echoes of the Past. 
I hear, in fancy, the wheels of the ambulance crunch- 
ing the small broken stones of the malapais, or 
grating swiftly over the gravel of the smooth white 
roads of the river-bottoms. I hear the rattle of the 
ivory rings on the harness of the six-mule team ; I see 
the soldiers marching on ahead ; I see my white tent, 
so inviting after a long day's journey. 

But how vain these fancies ! Railroad and auto- 
mobile have annihilated distance, the army life of 
those years is past and gone, and Arizona, as we knew 
it, has vanished from the face of the earth. 



THE END. 



APPENDIX. 

Nantucket Island, June 1910. 

When, a few years ago, I determined to write my 
recollections of life in the army, I was wholly un- 
familiar with the methods of publishers, and the 
firm to whom I applied to bring out my book, did 
not urge upon me the advisability of having it electro- 
typed, firstly, because, as they said afterwards, I my- 
self had such a very modest opinion of my book, and, 
secondly because they thought a book of so decidedly 
personal a character would not reach a sale of more 
than a few hundred copies at the farthest. The 
matter of electrotyping was not even discussed be- 
tween us. The entire edition of one thousand copies 
was exhausted in about a year, without having been 
carried on the lists of any bookseller or advertised in 
any way except through some circulars sent by myself 
to personal friends, and through several excellent 
reviews in prominent newspapers. 

As the demand for the book continued, I have 
thought it advisable to re-issue it, adding a good deal 
that has come into my mind since its publication. 

It was after the Colonel's retirement that we came 
to spend the summers at Nantucket, and I began to 
enjoy the leisure that never comes into the life of an 
army woman during the active service of her hus- 

304 



APPENDIX 

band. We were no longer expecting sudden orders, 
and I was able to think quietly over the events of 
the past. 

My old letters which had been returned to me 
really gave me the inspiration to write the book and 
as I read them over, the people and the events therein 
described were recalled vividly to my mind — events 
which I had forgotten, people whom I had forgotten — 
events and people all crowded out of my memory for 
many years by the pressure of family cares, and the 
succession of changes in our stations, by anxiety 
during Indian campaigns, and the constant readjust- 
ment of my mind to new scenes and new friends. 

And so, in the delicious quiet of the Autumn days 
at Nantucket, when the summer winds had ceased to 
blow and the frogs had ceased their pipings in the 
salt meadows, and the sea was wondering whether it 
should keep itj summer blue or change into its winter 
grey, I sat down at my desk and began to write my 
story. 

Looking out over the quiet ocean in those wonder- 
ful November days, when a peaceful calm brooded 
over all things, I gathered up all the threads of my 
various experiences and wove them together. 

But the people and the lands I wrote about did not 
really exist for me; they were dream people and 
dream lands. I wrote of them as they had appeared 
to me in those early years, and, strange as it may seem, 

305 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

I did not once stop to think if the people and the 
lands still existed. 

For a quarter of a century I had lived in the day 
that began with reveille and ended w^ith ''Taps." 

Now on this enchanted island, there was no reveille 
to awaken us in the morning, and in the evening the 
only sound we could hear was the "ruck" of the waves 
on the far outer shores and the sad tolling of the 
bell buoy when the heaving swell of the ocean came 
rolling over the bar. 

And so I wrote, and the story grew into a book 
which was published and sent out to friends and 
family. 

As time passed on, I began to receive orders for 
the book from army officers, and then one day I re- 
ceived orders from people in Arizona and I awoke to 
the fact that Arizona was no longer the land of my 
memories. I began to receive booklets telling me 
of projected railroads, also pictures of wonderful 
buildings, all showing progress and prosperity. 

And then came letters from some Presidents of 
railroads whose lines ran through Arizona, and from 
bankers and politicians and business men of Tucson, 
Phoenix and Yuma City. Photographs showing 
shady roads and streets, where once all was a glare 
and a sandy waste. Letters from mining men who 
knew every foot of the roads we had marched over; 
pictures of the great Laguna dam on the Colorado, 

306 



APPENDIX 

and of the quarters of the Gnverniiient Reclamation 
Service Corps at Yuma. 

These letters and pictures told me of the wonderful 
contrast presented by my story to the Arizona of 
today; and although I had not spared that country, 
in my desire to place before my children and friends 
a vivid picture of my life out there, all these men 
seemed willing to forgive me and even declared that 
my story might do as much to advance their interests 
and the prosperity of Arizona as anything which had 
been written with only that object in view. 

My soul was calmed by these assurances, and I 
ceased to be distressed by thinking over the descrip- 
tions I had given of the unpleasant conditions existing 
in that country in the seventies. 

In the meantime, the San Francisco Chronicle had 
published a good review of my book, and reproduced 
the photograph of Captain Jack Mellon, the noted 
pilot of the Colorado river, adding that he was un- 
doubtedly one of the most picturesque characters v/ho 
had ever lived on the Pacific Coast and that he had 
died some years ago. 

And so he was really dead ! And perhaps the 
others too, were all gone from the earth, I thought, 
when one day I received a communication from an en- 
tire stranger, who informed me that the writer of 
the review in the San Francisco newspaper had been 
mistaken in the matter of Captain Mellon's death, 
that he had seen him recently and that he lived at 

307 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

San Diego. So I wrote to him and made haste to 
forward him a copy of my book, which reached him 
at Yuma, on the Colorado, and this is what he wrote : 

YuMA^ Dec. 15th, 1908. 
My dear Mrs. Summerhayes: 

Your good book and letter came yesterday p. m., for 
which accept my thanks. My home is not in San 
Diego, but in Coronado, across the bay from San 
Diego. That is the reason I did not get your letter 
sooner. 

In one hour after I received your book, I had 
orders for nine of them. All these books go to the 
official force of the Reclamation Service here who are 
Damming the Colorado for the Government Irrigation 
Project. They are not Damming it as we formerly 
did, but with good solid masonry. The Dam is 4800 
feet long and 300 feet wide and 10 feet above high 
water. In high water it will flow over the top of the 
Dam, but in low water the ditches or canals will take 
all the water out of the River, the approximate cost 
is three million. There will be a tunnel under the 
River at Yuma just below the Bridge, to bring the 
water into Arizona which is thickly settled to the 
Mexican Line. 

I have done nothing on the River since the 23rd 
of last August, at which date they closed the River 
to Navigation, and the only reason I am now in Yuma 
is trying to get something from Government for my 

308 



APPENDIX 

boats made useless by the Dam. I expect to get a 
little, but not a tenth of what they cost me. 

Your book could not have a better title: it is 
"Vanished Arizona" sure enough, vanished the good 
and warm Hearts that were here when you were. The 
People here now are cold blooded as a snake and are 
all trying to get the best of the other fellow. 

There are but two alive that were on the River 
when you were on it. Polhemus and myself are all 
that are left, but I have many friends on this coast. 

:(: Hi ;(; ^ jji 

The nurse Patrocina died in Los Angeles last sum- 
mer and the crying kid Jesusita she had on the boat 
when you went from Ehrenberg to the mouth of the 
River grew up to be the finest looking Girl in these 
Parts ; She was the Star witness in a murder trial in 
Los Angeles last winter, and her picture was in all 
of the Papers. 

I am sending you a picture of the Steamer "Mojave" 
which was not on the river when you were here. I 
made 20 trips with her up to the Virgin River, which 
is 145 miles above Fort Mojave, or 75 miles higher 
than any other man has gone with a boat: she was 
10 feet longer than the ''Gila" or any other boat ever 
on the River. (Excuse this blowing but it's the truth). 

In 1864 I was on a trip down the Gulf of California, 
in a small sail boat and one of my companions was 
John Stanton. In Angel's Bay a man whom we were 
giving a passage to, murdered my partner and ran 

309 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

off with the boat and left Charley Ticen, John Stanton 
and myself on the beach. We were seventeen days 
tramping to a village with nothing to eat but cactus but 
I think I have told you the story before and what 
I want to know, is this Stanton alive. He belonged 
to New Bedford — his father had been master of a 
whale-ship. 

When we reached Guaymas, Stanton found a 
friend, the mate of a steamer, the mate also belonged 
to New Bedford. When we parted, Stanton told me 
he was going home and was going to stay there, and 
as he was two years younger than me, he may still 
be in New Bedford, and as you are on the ground, 
maybe you can help me to find out. 

All the people that I know praise your descriptive 
power and now my dear Mrs. Summerhayes I suppose 
you will have a hard time wading through my 
scrawl but I know you will be generous and remember 
that I went to sea when a little over nine years of 
age and had my pen been half as often in my hand as 
a marlin spike, I would now be able to write a much 
clearer hand. 

I have a little bungalow on Coronado Beach, across 
the bay from San Diego, and if you ever come there, 
you or your husband, you are welcome ; while I have 
a bean you can have half. I would like to see you 
and talk over old times. Yuma is quite a place now; 
no more adobes built ; it is brick and concrete, cement 

310 



APPENDIX 

sidewalks and flower gardens with electric light and 
a good water system. 

My home is within five minutes walk of the Pacific 
Ocean. I was born at Digby, Nova Scotia, and the 
first music I ever heard was the surf of the Bay of 
Fundy, and when I close my eyes forever I hope 
the surf of the Pacific will be the last sound that 
will greet my ears. 

I read Vanished Arizona last night until after 
midnight, and thought what we both had gone through 
since you first came up the Colorado with me. My 
acquaintance with the army was always pleasant, and 
like Tom Moore I often say: 

Let fate do lier worst, there are relics of joy 
Bright dreams of the past which she cannot destroy! 
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care 
And bring back the features that joy used to wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled! 

I suppose the Colonel goes down to the Ship 
Chandler's and gams with the old whaling captains. 
When I was a boy, there was a wealthy family of 
ship-owners in New Bedford by the name of Robinson. 
I saw one of their ships in Bombay, India, that was 
in 1854, her name was the Mary Robinson, and altho' 
there were over a hundred ships on the bay, she was 
the handsomest there. 

Well, good friend, I am afraid I will tire you out, so 
311 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

I will belay this, and with best wishes for you and 
yours, 

I am, yours truly, 

J. A. MklIvON. 
P. S. — Fisher is long since called to his Long Home. 



I had fancied, when Vanished Arizona was pub- 
lished, that it might possibly appeal to the sympathies 
of women, and that men would lay it aside as a sort-of 
a "woman's book" — but I have received more really 
sympathetic letters from men than I have from 
women, all telling me, in different words, that the 
human side of the story had appealed to them, and 
I suppose this comes from the fact that originally 
I wrote it for my children, and felt perfect free- 
dom to put my whole self into it. And now that 
the book is entirely out of my hands, I am glad 
that I wrote it as I did, for if I had stopped 
to think that my dream people might be real people, 
and that the real people would read it, I might never 
have had the courage to write it at all. 

The many letters I have received of which there 
have been several hundred I am sure, have been so 
interesting that I reproduce a few more of them here : 

312 



APPENDIX 

Fort Bknjamin Harrison, 

Indianapous, Indiana. 

January lo, 1909. 

My dear Mrs. Summerhayes: 

I have just read the book. It is a good book, a 
true book, one of the best kind of books. After 
taking it up I did not lay it down till it was finished — 
till with you I had again gone over the malapais deserts 
of Arizona, and recalled my own meetings with you 
at Niobrara and at old Fort Marcy or Santa Fe. You 
were my cicerone in the old town and I couldn't 
have had a better one — or more charming one. 

The book has recalled many memories to me. 
Scarcely a name you mention but is or was a friend. 
Major Van Vliet loaned me his copy, but I shall get 
one of my own and shall tell my friends in the East 
that, if they desire a true picture of army life as it 
appears to the army woman, they must read your 
book. 

For my part I feel that I must congratulate you on 
your successful work and thank you for the pleasure 
you have given me in its perusal. 

With cordial regard to you and yours, and with 
best wishes for many happy years. 

Very sincerely yours, 

L. W. V. Kknnon, 

Maj. loth Inf. 
313 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

Headquarters Third Brigade, 
National Guard of Pennsyevania, 
Wiekes-Barre, Pennsyevania. 
January 19, 1908. 
Dear Madam : 

I am sending you herewith my check for two 
copies of "Vanished Arizona." This summer our mu- 
tual friend, Colonel Beaumont (late 4th U. S. Cav.) 
ordered two copies for me and I have given them 
both away to friends whom I wanted to have read 
your delightful and charming book. I am now order- 
ing one of these for another friend and wish to keep 
one in my record library as a memorable story of the 
bravery and courage of the noble band of army men 
and women who helped to blaze the pathway of the 
nation's progress in its course of Empire Westward. 
No personal record written, which I have read, tells 
so splendidly of what the good women of our army 
endured in the trials that beset the army in the life 
on the plains in the days succeeding the Civil War. 
And all this at a time when the nation and its people 
were caring but little for you all and the struggles 
you were making. 

I will be pleased indeed if you will kindly inscribe 
your name in one of the books you will send me. 

Sincerely Yours, 

C. B. Dougherty, 
Brig. Gen'l N. G. Pa. 
Jan. 19, 1908. 

314 



APPENDIX 

SCHIvNECTADY, N. Y. 

June 8th, 1908. 
Mrs. John W. Summerhayes, 

North Shore Hill, Nantucket, Mass. 
My Dear Mrs. Summerhayes : 

Were I to say that I enjoyed ''Vanished Arizona," 
I should very inadequately express my feelings about 
it, because there is so much to arouse emotions deeper 
than what we call "enjoyment" ; it stirs the sympa- 
thies and excites our admiration for your courage and 
your fortitude. In a word, the story, honest and un- 
affected, yet vivid, has in it that touch of nature 
which makes kin of us all. 

How actual knowledge and experience broadens our 
minds ! Your appreciation of, and charity for, the 
weaknesses of those living a lonely life of deprivation 
on the frontier, impressed me very much. I wish too, 
that what you say about the canteen could be published 
in every newspaper in America. 

Very sincerely yours, 

M. F. Wkstover, 
Secretary Gen I Elect vie Co. 

The Miutary Service: Institution of the United 
States. 

Governor's Island, N. Y. 
June 25, 1908. 
Dear Mrs. Summerhayes : 

I offer my personal congratulations upon your 
315 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

success in producing a work of such absorbing interest 
to all friends of the Army, and so instructive to the 
public at large. 

I have just finished reading the book, from cover 
to cover, to my wife and we have enjoyed it thor- 
oughly. 

Will you please advise me where the book can be 
purchased in New York, or otherwise mail two copies 
to me at 203 W. 54th Street, New York City, with 
memo of price per copy, that I may remit the amount. 

Very truly yours, 

T. F. Rode:nbough, 
Secretary and Editor {Brig. Gen I. U. S. A.) 

Yale University, New Haven, Conn. 
May 15, 1910. 
Dear Mrs. Summerhayes : 

I have read every word of your book "Vanished 
Arizona" with intense interest. You have given a 
vivid account of what you actually saw and lived 
through, and nobody can resist the truthfulness and 
reality of your narrative. The book is a real contri- 
bution to American history, and to the chronicles of 
army life. 

Faithfully yours, 

Wm. Lyon Pheeps, 

[Professor of English literature at Yale University.] 
316 



APPENDIX 

LONACONING, Md., Jail. 2, I909. 

Col. J. W. Sunimerhays, 

New Rochelle, N. Y. 
Dear Sir: 

Captain William Baird, 6th Cavalry, retired, now 
at Annapolis, sent me Mrs. Summerhay's book to 
read, and I have read it with delight, for I was in 
"K" when Mrs. Sunimerhays "took on" in the 8th. 
Myself and my brother, Michael, served in "K" Com- 
pany from David's Island to Camp Apache. Doubt- 
less you have forgotten me, but I am sure that you 
remember the tall fifer of "K", Michael Gurnett. He 
was killed at Camp Mohave in Sept. 1885, while in 
Company "G" of the ist Infantry. I was five years 
in ''K", but my brother re-enlisted in "K", and after- 
ward joined the First. He served in the 31st, 22nd, 
8th and ist. 

Oh, that little book! We're all in it, even poor 
Charley Bowen. Mrs. Summerhays should have 
written a longer story. She soldiered long enough 
with the 8th in the ''bloody 70's" to be able to write a 
book five times as big. For what she's done, God 
bless her! She is entitled to the Irishman's benedic- 
tion: ''May every hair in her head be a candle to 
light her soul to glory." We poor old Regulars have 
little said about us in print, and wish to God that 
"Vanished Arizona" was in the hands of every old 
veteran of the "Marching 8th." If I had the means 
I would send a copy to our ist Serg't Bernard Moran, 

317 



VANISHED ARIZONA 

and the other old comrades at the Soldiers' Home. 
But, alas, evil times have fallen upon us, and — Fm 
not writing a jeremiad — I took the book from the 
post oflice and when I saw the crossed guns and the 
"8" there was a lump in my throat, and I went into 
the barber shop and read it through before I left. A 
friend of mine was in the shop and when I came to 
Prinele's death, he said, ''Gurnett, that must be a sad 
book you're reading, why man, you're crying." 

I believe I was, but they were tears of joy. And, 
Oh, Lord, to think of Bowen having a full page in 
history; but, after all, maybe he deserved it. And 
that picture of my company commander! [Worth]. 
Long, long, have I gazed on it. I was only sixteen and 
a half years old when I joined his company at David's 
Island, Dec. 6th, 1871. Folliot A. Whitney was ist 
lieutenant and Cyrus Earnest, 2nd. What a fine 
man Whitney was. A finer man nor truer gentleman 
ever wore a shoulder strap. If he had been company 
commander I'd have re-enlisted and stayed with him. 
I was always afraid of Worth, though he was always 
good to my brother and myself. I deeply regretted 
Lieut. Whitney's death in Cuba, and I watched Major 
Worth's career in the last war. It nearly broke my 
heart that I could not go. Oh, the rattle of the war 
drum and the bugle calls and the marching troops, it 
set me crazy, and me not able to take a hand in the 
scrap. 



318 



APPENDIX 

Mrs. Summerhays calls him Wm. T. Worth, isn't 
it Win. S.Worth? 

The copy I have read was loaned me by Captain 
Baird; he says it's a Christmas gift from General 
Carter, and I must return it. My poor wife has read 
it with keen interest and says she: "William, I am 
going to have that book for my children," and she'll 
get it, yea, verily ! she will. 

Well, Colonel, I'm right glad to know that you are 
still on this side of the great divide, and I know that 
you and Mrs. S. will be glad to hear from an old 
"walk-a-heap" of the 8th. 

I am working for a Cumberland newspaper — Lona- 
coning reporter — and I will send you a copy or two 
of the paper v/ith this. And now, permit me to sub- 
scribe myself your 

Comrade In Arms, 

WlIvWAM A. GURNKTT. 
Dear Mrs. Sumnierhayes : 

Read your book — in fact when I got started I forgot 
my bedtime (and you know how rigid that is) and sat 
it through. 

It has a bully note of the old army — it was all worth 
while — they had color, those days. 

I say — now suppose you had married a man who 
kept a drug store — see what you would have had and 
see what you would have missed. 

Yours, 

Frederic Ri:mington. 
(618) 



21 '»'» 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



OCT U »9n 



